


For Your Love, All You Are

by selflessbellamy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And idiots who won't admit they're in love (but who's surprised?), Bellamy and Clarke are debate team members, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Slow burn (sorta)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 03:06:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14886465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selflessbellamy/pseuds/selflessbellamy
Summary: After a moment, Bellamy asks, the grin lasting on his face, “Having fun yet, Princess?”“I thought you’d be the last person to care, Blake.”The amusement shines through his dark eyes at her sassiness, which is infuriating. No matter how hard she tries, she can’t strike him speechless, can’t do anything that surprises him.***Clarke needs someone to help her with her sexual frustration, and who could possibly be better than her cocky rival Bellamy Blake?





	For Your Love, All You Are

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Meg (@atlasbellamy on Tumblr) and Jessy (@bring-me-bellarke on Tumblr) for beta-reading this monster fic for me. Also, thank you to Jules (@perhalta) for agreeing to read the story in advance and offering some last comments.

This is how it starts…

The University of New York has never seen two stronger rivals compete for the head of the debate team. Curiously enough, they’re both devoted Democrats, but that’s never stopped them from being at each other’s throats — a privileged princess of uptown Manhattan with paint-splattered hands, and a working-class jackass. Just as some people are destined to connect, to love, Blake and Griffin are destined to hate. It’s written in the stars, and everyone knows that the stars have never been wrong. _Listen to them. Don’t try to mess with the order of the universe…_

… It will rip the skies apart.

 **This is The Big Bang, the beginning of everything:** In 2015, nineteen-year-old Clarke Griffin joins the NYU debate team, and everyone assumes that her arrival will be a fresh breath of air, a new force that will give them an advantage in competing. As soon as Bellamy Blake realizes what she has to say, however, two meteors collide.

_“As if you would have any clue of the things that working people have to sacrifice, Princess!”_

_“As if you know anything about me,” she laughed, mocking him. “You’re an ass.”_

Maybe he’s right in his judgment of her, maybe he isn’t. Needless to say, though, he doesn’t care. From that moment on, she’s an insufferable thorn in his side, as a nickname isn’t enough to make her back down. In fact, she only hits harder, which he couldn’t have foreseen obviously — and yet, it intrigues him despite the fact that he would never admit it.

It intrigues _her_ , too. Neither of them has truly realized this, but it’s the reason why they keep arguing in spite of how everyone around them — the genius, Raven Reyes, and the master of sass, Nathan Miller, included — no longer sees the point of the Blake/Griffin rivalry.

“Do you ever get tired of fighting with him? Fucking hell, Griffin. You have the _same_ opinion about gun control.” 

Clarke downs her third shot of vodka, arching an eyebrow. “Do we? Since when have we ever agreed on anything?” 

At that, her best friend rolls her eyes, sighing in exasperation. “You’ve always agreed on a lot of things, actually, but because you’re clouded by judgment, you refuse to see that.” If you lack an honest friend, there’s no one better than the rationally critical physics major, Raven Reyes. She won’t hesitate to tell you exactly what she thinks or call you out on your shit when it’s needed, and for the most part, Clarke is smart enough to listen to her. 

But not when it comes to Bellamy Blake…

“Judgment? I’ve known him for three years, and he’s made it pretty damn clear that he’s nothing short of a selfish, smug bastard.”

Before Raven can respond, someone else chirps in: Roma. Tall and dark-haired, she’s the latest in Bellamy’s loose string of sexual attachments. “That might be true, but he’s insanely good in bed. I mean, the things that he can do with his—“ 

Quickly, Clarke cuts her off. “Did I fucking ask?” As little as she cares about Bellamy’s sexual abilities, she’s still angered by the fact that Roma thinks it’s okay to discuss them in a public bar. When the other girl appears to be taken aback, Clarke simply glares at her for a moment, hoping that it will permanently shut her up.

Raven leans in closer, lowering her voice. “See? You just stood up for him.”

Maybe she did. It doesn’t matter. She would’ve defended almost _anyone_ in such a circumstance. Peering over her shoulder, Clarke notices her rival grinning widely around the edge of his beer can, which is most likely the result of one of Miller’s cheesy jokes. Otherwise, Bellamy doesn’t actually smile much. Before she has the chance to look away, he apparently senses her eyes on him, because he meets her gaze and motions for her to come over.

To her own surprise, she does, blaming it on that third shot of vodka. When she’s standing in front of him, she crosses her arms, prompting Miller to make himself scarce before any ensuing drama. After a moment, Bellamy asks, the grin lasting on his face, “Having fun yet, Princess?”

“I thought you’d be the last person to care, Blake.”

The amusement shines through his dark eyes at her sassiness, which is infuriating. No matter how hard she tries, she can’t strike him speechless, can’t do anything that surprises him. “I am, but you’ve been quite tense lately,” is what he states before taking a slow sip of his beer.

She immediately attempts to mask her reaction, because it will give away that his insinuation is (annoyingly) accurate. “And what makes you so sure of that?” She inquires, keeping her voice as natural as possible, even if she can’t help but lick her lips — a reaction to which Bellamy’s eyes are drawn. Smiling, he digs a package of cigarettes out of his pocket, making her frown.

The smug asshole is waving her strongest vice right under her nose, the familiar teasing glint present in his gaze. “You want one?” 

Worrying her lower lip once more, Clarke stares at him, and the cigarettes, then at him again. It seems as if an entire minute drags by while she tries to find the best response, which turns out to be, “From you? What’s the price?”

Bellamy shakes his head, his cheeky smile growing wider with every passing moment. “There is none. Take it as a favor.” 

Despite her suspicion, Clarke’s too desperate for a puff of smoke to question him further, so she simply trails after him as he leaves the bar, and leans up against the brick wall next to him once they’re surrounded by the comfortable night air of early September. Without looking at her, Bellamy passes her a cigarette after lighting it.

“It’s not poisoned, is it?” 

“Relax, Princess. I play fairly.” 

She rolls her eyes, yet says nothing, which is an extremely subtle way of expressing gratitude. Still, it’s the only thing she’s willing to give him. Then they fall into silence until Clarke notices that Bellamy’s attention has turned to the ink-colored sky that is dressed in shining stars, and suddenly she’s struck by curiosity. As always, she does her best to fight it, but it doesn’t work this time, the question sneaking out between her parted lips, “Do you have a favorite constellation?” 

Because it’s Bellamy, he can’t resist a sassy reply. “I thought you’d be the last person to care.”

“Just tell me.”

To her own surprise, she has to battle a smile at that, keep it from pulling the corners of her mouth upwards. 

“Andromeda,” he states after a beat, lifting the tip of his index finger to trace the starry pattern, and Clarke unconsciously drifts closer to him. _Well, it’s very beautiful_ , she’ll give him that, but nothing more. 

When he asks her the same question, she takes a drag of the cigarette, blowing the smoke towards the sky. “Aquila. The eagle.” At that response, Bellamy raises his eyebrows, seemingly astonished by her extensive knowledge of the constellations, and because of this, a satisfied smile takes control of her lips for a moment.

_I know as much as you do, Blake. That shouldn’t be surprising._

For three years, they’ve competed against each other, striving to be the smartest debater of the NYU team, but as far as everyone’s concerned, they’re equally intelligent, which is why they’re currently fighting a minor war for the position of the team president. To the untrained eye, the cigarette might’ve seemed like a peace offering, but Clarke knows better. Bellamy’s as stubborn as she is, meaning that he isn’t about to yield.

“Honestly, you should loosen up a bit. For your own sake… College is hard enough as it is, Clarke.” 

He rarely calls her by her actual name, usually opting for the mocking nickname ‘Princess’, because he loves to remind her that her wealthy family apparently makes her incapable of standing up for the middle class. When he does call her _Clarke_ , however, it’s only when he seriously wants her to listen to his words, to take them in… 

“Whatever you say,” she murmurs, stubbing out the cigarette against the brick wall before throwing it into the trashcan. Then she senses his gaze on her again, but ignores it and heads back inside the bar, hoping that Raven hasn’t left her seat.

 

* * *

 

They’ve been discussing ethics for the past two weeks in the debate team, which means that Bellamy and Clarke have already spent quite a few hours in total arguing over Jeremy Bentham and Immanuel Kant. Oozing with frustration, Clarke plops down on her bed, inhaling sharply while Raven stares at her from her side of the room. 

“Tell me Griffin… When was the last time you got properly laid?” 

Clarke frowns and thinks back, only to be shocked. She was aware that it had been a long time, but she’d managed to forget exactly how many sexless months have gone by for her. “I haven’t had sex since Lexa,” she admits, sensing heat rush to her cheeks in embarrassment. _It’s been nine fucking months —_ Nine months since her ex-girlfriend transferred to Parsons and they chose to break it off. 

Luckily, Raven isn’t the sort of friend who wastes energy by pitying others. Instead, she just encourages people to ‘ _get back out there’,_ and this time is no exception. “You need to come to the party next Friday. Luna’s hosting it, so it’ll probably be very chill, but still wild enough for you to have some fun.” 

 _Fun. Ha!_ It was the same term that Bellamy used. Truly, Clarke has no idea how casual sex and amusement are connected, since she’s never actually had casual sex before. She lost her virginity to Lexa in high school, dated her for two years, and she’s been dry as a desert since the break up. When she thinks about it, it seems rather sad, especially considering how much she genuinely _misses_ having sex. 

Not a relationship. Just sex. 

“I’ll think about going,” Clarke replies at last, prompting Raven to shoot her an unidentifiable look before leaving to go on her monthly movie date with Luna, her girlfriend of about a year.

  

When she has the night to herself, Clarke likes to binge-watch Netflix sitcoms while eating her way through a tub of Ben & Jerry’s cookie dough ice cream. Tonight, however, she tries to get herself off just to prove that she doesn’t need anyone else to do the job for her, doesn’t need anyone to help her _loosen up._ Ironically, as soon as she thinks that, a certain dark-haired jackass appears in her mind, sporting his usual smug smile.

Shit, there’s nothing more inconvenient than Bellamy fucking Blake settling in her thoughts right now, so she bites down on her lower lip until she tastes blood, trying to push the image of him from her mind, but _… His brown, freckled skin, his dark eyes that can tell a thousand stories with a single look, his biceps that make the fabric of his shirt cling to his arms._

While she can’t prevent herself from thinking of him, her skin heats up and her core pulses in anticipation. Still, she takes her thumb off her clit as if it burned her. She might be desperate, but she’s not desperate enough to masturbate to the thought of a person she can barely tolerate. _Fuck no._

As the disappointment from lack of release settles in her body, Clarke decides to re-watch the first season of Brooklyn-Nine-Nine, because it has never failed to improve her mood. Nevertheless, for some reason, Bellamy keeps finding narrow pathways into her mind, even though she ignores him every time… 

 

For college students, one of the biggest trials is the difficulty of getting back into a routine once the new semester starts. In the first few weeks of classes, Clarke roused too late and was forced to skip her morning shower. Honestly, it’s nothing short of a damn miracle that she’s managed to dress in proper clothes and make some coffee to put in her thermos this morning. 

During art history class, however, it is clear that _another person_ hasn’t been quite as fortunate. It’s the only course that she shares with Bellamy, and they’re usually seated rows apart to avoid an altercation, but today they’re sitting no more than a few seats apart, which is why she can tell that he’s off his game, struggling to keep his eyes open.

When the professor leaves the lecture hall for a minute, Clarke moves closer to tap him on the shoulder. “Blake, are you alive?” 

In response, he grunts, forcing himself to sit up straight. “I’m currently suffering from caffeine-deficiency. Forgot to bring coffee this morning.”

Clarke knows just how terrible it can be to miss the first cup of coffee. It’s not ideal that the majority of college students need caffeine in order to get through the day, but that’s sadly how it is nowadays. Of course, she remembers the cigarette-incident, and in the end it convinces her to reach into her bag for the thermos of coffee that she’s brought to class. “Here… Have the rest of mine.” 

Bellamy raises an eyebrow at that, smiling drowsily. “It’s not poisoned, is it?” 

“I can’t promise anything, but at least it’s not the mainstream Starbucks. In fact, it’s fair-trade Colombian.” 

Pouring the coffee into a plastic cup, he grins, replying, “That’s good enough for me, Princess,” and she’s almost certain that she hears some gratitude shine through his words. It causes her to look at him for a minute while he drinks, internally noting that he looks really hot despite his exhausted state: His dark hair seems messier than usual, his eyelids are half-closed, his full lips slightly parted… 

… Okay, it’s definitely time for her to return to her own seat now.

Even when she has sat down, her gaze keeps drifting to him until the class is officially over, and because of this she is forced to distract herself by doodling in the margin of her notebook instead of paying attention. _Why does the asshole have to be so fucking attractive?_ It’s unfair, especially considering that she’s currently too horny to think straight. 

Maybe the universe just wants to punish her for some reason.

 

* * *

 

Raven and Clarke didn’t meet Monty and Miller through Bellamy. In reality, they met at the New York Pride parade a year ago, where they spent the afternoon eating wonderful ice cream and discussing representation in fiction, which has been a tradition ever since. Even though the topics of their conversations are different every time they meet up now. 

Today, the focus is on Luna’s sorority party. “Are you going, Griffin?” Raven asks, causing her to stall, the plastic spoon of chocolate ice cream hovering in the air. Glancing at her friends, she notices that Monty and Miller are eagerly awaiting a response, too. Still, once it emerges, it disappoints them.

“No, I haven’t. Parties are not my thing lately.” 

“But you need sex,” Reyes states as if it’s a normal thing to casually bring up at a public ice cream parlor. To show her disapproval, Clarke shoots her a quick glare as her cheeks turn red at the sensation of Monty and Miller’s eyes on her. 

“Going to a party isn’t the only way to get some,” is what she mumbles in attempt to end this part of the conversation, yet she doesn’t realize that her statement opens up a new can of worms…

Maybe she doesn’t _have_ to get drunk and find some random stranger to hook up with, as there’s no valid reason to do so unless no one she knows wants to have sex with her. Nonetheless, that’s also a dilemma, because sleeping with a person she genuinely likes could result in her developing feelings for them (being an amateur at casual sex is definitely a curse…), which is a solid no-go. 

Clarke for sure doesn’t need that right now.

“You’re right, it’s not,” Miller agrees. “But it’s the easiest option.”

At that, she grins around her plastic spoon. “When have I ever been one to take the easy way out, Nathan?”

Generally, people don’t call Nathan Miller by his first name, and Monty is the only one who is allowed to have a nickname for him. ‘ _Nate’._ It’s cute… Last year, Raven formed an alliance with English lit major Harper McIntyre to set them up on a blind date. Clearly, the plan worked, since the couple is planning to move in together once they’ve graduated college.

“Never. That’s why you don’t let Bellamy get away with any of his bullshit,” Monty jokes, causing Miller to ruffle his hair a little in teasing.

“Dude, that’s my best friend you’re talking about.”

According to Clarke’s limited knowledge of their friendship, Bellamy and Miller have been thick as thieves since high school, and on the outside they look very much alike at times, sporting their brooding facial expressions. Still, Miller has a soft core, while Blake… Well, she doesn’t actually know anything about that.

She’s never cared enough to look beneath his bravado.

For the first time, she realizes that it seems quite shallow of her. At least she’s certain that Bellamy doesn’t give a flying fuck about her real personality either, so at least they’re equally superficial and don’t owe each other anything, _definitely_ not friendship.

She’s happy that the only things they offer each other are Colombian coffee and cheap cigarettes…

 

* * *

 

There are two days remaining until the next meeting of the debate team, so Clarke has to find some way to pass the time. In the end, she chooses to lose herself in art: A watercolor piece of the river she used to swim in with her dad when she was a kid. Conveniently, it provides about the same amount of stress-relief as an orgasm would but without the need for a sexual partner or masturbation. All of her attempts at the latter have been unsuccessful thus far, which is incredibly frustrating, and painting is the only thing that helps. Well, she supposes that debating would work, too, but she doesn’t have the luxury of that right now.

Her art teacher has told her that she needs to practice _human anatomy,_ which is ironic given her current struggle with sexual frustration. Drawing people is difficult, because they’re all different, have their own story that you need to capture and somehow place in their features. She has tried to sketch her dad from memory since using a picture for reference didn’t seem to do him any justice. Raven’s modeled for her as a favor once, too, and although she told her that liked the outcome, Clarke wasn’t satisfied. 

Briefly, she wonders how challenging it would be to draw Bellamy. _Would it give her any insight into the layers of him that she hasn’t bothered to uncover before?_ For the most part, Clarke tries to understand other people even if she doesn’t like them — after all, it’s important when you debate that you’re willing to look at something from a different perspective than you’re used to. 

At that, a sudden thought strikes her. _Maybe Bellamy could help her with her sexual frustration._ It sounds bizarre in her mind, but it could be a solution. She doesn’t actually like him, and therefore she would have nothing to lose if the arrangement should fail. Also, there’s no way she would fall for him, because she’s too focused on wanting to fight him ninety percent of the time. 

There is one _minor_ problem with this solution, though: The fact that Bellamy would never help her with anything more serious than her need for a smoke.

 

* * *

 

On Friday she decides to try asking him despite the odds of it going wrong. Because even though it’s a gamble, she knows that there isn’t much to lose. Once they’ve finished the debate of the day, Clarke lingers in the meeting room, which causes Raven to ask, “You coming or what, Griffin?”

“It’s okay. Just go. There’s something I need to discuss with Bellamy,” when he hears his name fall from her lips, he turns his head in surprise, his brow furrowing. Before closing the door behind her, Raven makes a snarky comment about hoping they don’t murder each other, and then leaves them alone. Wasting no time, Bellamy takes a few steps towards her, crossing his arms.

“What do you need to discuss with me? Is it my delivery of the second argument?”

Like always, she can’t resist the urge to roll her eyes, not even when nervousness is starting to make its way into her body, drying out her throat. “No,” once she’s admitted that, the corners of his mouth tip upwards, forming his signature smirk, yet it doesn’t last for long, as Clarke continues, “I need your help. You’re right. I should loosen up.” 

“I’m not following. You have to be more specific,” Bellamy replies as if he’s critiquing one of her arguments. Slightly flustered, she glances at her feet for a second, gathering the courage to meet his dark gaze. Then she decides to be blunt, just to get it over with. _No bullshit… That’s the way he likes it._

“I need to get off.” 

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his jaw slackening a bit. Finally, it appears as if she’s said something that he couldn’t predict. Despite the initial bewilderment, Bellamy seems to collect himself quickly, stepping closer until she feels his warm breath brush over her lips. With every passing moment, the threat of blushing in embarrassment becomes greater, but luckily he doesn’t stay silent for much longer. “Why would you need my help with that?”

It’s a logical question, but she wishes that it wasn’t so embarrassing for her to admit the truth. She fumbles for a response that will keep her pride intact, yet fails to find one and therefore she goddamn nearly heads for the door. In fact, the only reason why she doesn’t make a run for it is that Bellamy stops her as soon as she turns her head away and grabs her arm to prevent her from going anywhere. 

“Clarke—”

“I’ve tried,” she rushes, feeling her cheeks burn when she forces herself to look at him. “I’ve tried, but I can’t do it. I just can’t.“ 

The last thing she expects is Bellamy’s gaze softening the way that it does at her admission. Suddenly they look like the earth that turns tender after a sudden rainfall. “Of course you can. Maybe you need a little guidance, but that’s it.”

For a minute, she’s too baffled by how strongly his words resemble comfort to realize that he might’ve also indirectly agreed to help her. Wanting to be absolutely certain, she asks if he’s planning to attend the party at Luna’s sorority house tonight, but he shakes his head. “No. I have a paper to write.”

“Really?” Once more, she senses the dreading disappointment as it starts to weigh on her heart, and she’s about to become really annoyed in order to hide it when he winks at her. 

“That’s what I’ll tell Miller if he demands to know the reason why I’m _not_ going.” 

Well, that _is_ smart, and she should have an excuse prepared, too, just in case Raven makes one last unsuccessful attempt at dragging her to the party. She and Bellamy then agree to meet in her room around 10 p.m. once both of their roommates have left, and despite the sneakiness of it all, it actually sounds as if they’re going to sign a business contract rather than have a sexual encounter. Still, their planning includes some minor informality, like Bellamy saying, “If you regret it _at any point,_ just send me a text and I’ll stay away.”

“I won’t,” she assures him, confident enough to hold his gaze now. “I’ve already thought it through.” Actually, that isn’t the truth. She hasn’t made such an impulsive choice in _years,_ but — as everyone who is familiar with her knows — she refuses to back down once she has put her mind to something, because determination runs deep in her DNA; it’s wired into the cells of her body.

Boldly, Bellamy takes another inch of the space between them, so that their foreheads almost touch. If he was hoping for a startled reaction, he has to be disappointed by how her lips form an amused smile, proposing _a challenge —_ A challenge that he’s already accepted, but out of sheer curiosity he asks her a final question before they both leave the meeting room, “Why did you ask _me_ , though? What makes an _asshole_ like me the perfect candidate?” Laughter lingers at the edges of the question, but she expected that after the ego boost she essentially just gave him.

Placing her hand on the doorknob, she turns her head to look at him with a smirk, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at his usual smugness. “I didn’t feel like asking someone I actually like.”

 

* * *

 

Raven leaves at 9:30 p.m. after spending ten minutes frowning at Clarke for being a ‘do-gooder’ who chooses to stay home on a Friday night to _paint watercolor pieces for art class._ Little does she know that instead of turning to her work, Clarke starts a completely different project, because if Bellamy’s going to be here in half an hour, she might as well go all the way.

Crammed into a drawer in her closet, Clarke finds her sexiest set of lingerie. To some, it’s most likely not _that_ wild, but it’s black and lacy, and she figures that it’s good enough for a one-night sex thing with a person she barely tolerates.

Once she’s slipped the lingerie on, Clarke hides it with her only pair of shorts that isn’t covered in paint splatter or permanent charcoal. Then she pulls a white button-up over her shoulders, aware that the material is slightly see-through. Maybe it’s a little stupid to do all of this for _Bellamy_ , but it’s fun and it distracts her enough so that she doesn’t have the time to doubt her plans for the evening.

Nevertheless, her effort proves to be worth it, because when Bellamy arrives, his eyes travel down her body, and when she notices that he’s biting his lower lip, her skin starts to heat up. Looking into her eyes again, Bellamy frowns slightly. “Jesus, enough with the braid, Princess,” is what he mumbles before pulling at the hair tie to release the golden waves that frame her face. 

For a moment while his hand rests by her neck, Clarke actually expects Bellamy to kiss her, but of course he doesn’t. Instead, he sits down at the edge of her bed, motioning for her to join him, and once she has, he doesn’t allow time for the awkwardness of dancing around the subject. “What do you usually do to get off?”

“Well, I just—“ Before she can elaborate, Bellamy effectively cuts her off by undoing the first two buttons on her shirt. He smiles, giving her a minute to figure out what he thinks she should do…

 _… Show him._ It rattles her a bit, causing her to become fidgety, her fingertips playing with the edge of her bed sheet. Apparently sensing her nervousness, Bellamy searches her eyes. “Are you sure you want this? Say the word, and I’ll go. We’ll pretend this never happened.”

“Please don’t go,” she replies, her begging surprising. “I’m just nervous, because I genuinely don’t know how to… pleasure myself, Bellamy. I don’t have enough experience, I’m stressed out, and I—”

Before she becomes too upset, he leans in to kiss her, and even though the touch of their lips doesn’t last long, it lingers. Then his mouth moves to her throat, causing a sigh to escape her mouth and her fingertips to fumble with the rest of the shirt buttons. “Slow down, Clarke,” he breathes into the crook of her neck. “Pleasure takes patience, especially if you’re doing the work on your own.” 

Although she tries her best to listen to his words, the warm sensation of his tongue against her pulse point has her eyelids fluttering shut; it fills her mind with fuzziness, a blanket of fog. He seems to be encompassing her, making her heart race in her chest and her skin heat up. Smoothly, Bellamy lets his hand slide beneath the loose fabric of her shirt, and it closes around her ribs for a second before he unclasps her bra with surprising ease. Although his movements are self-assured, there is some hesitation in the way he touches her skin, almost as if he’s taken aback by the tenderness of it. Still, he knows how to pretend that he’s not flustered.

“You must at least have an idea of your erogenous zones, because I already do and I’ve hardly touched you.”

“If you’re so smug, I dare you to find all of them,” Clarke retorts, barely resisting the urge to pull the dark curls of his hair when his teeth graze her collarbone. At her words, Bellamy smirks against her skin, finally letting her shirt fall to the floor. 

“Challenge accepted.”

 _The shell of her ear, her inner thighs, her upper lip and the swell of her breasts…_ Once he’s discovered all of the places and mapped them like a true explorer, Clarke’s already embarrassingly wet and has to battle the desire to rub her thighs together. By now, she’s lying on her back, choking back the moan in her throat as he teases one of her nipples with his tongue. When he sucks it into his mouth, she can’t keep silent any longer. 

“ _Fuck…_ ”

“You like that?” He asks, the confidence rolling off him, even though the gruff edge to his voice and the hard bulge in his pants easily exposes his own pleasure. In response to his cockiness, Clarke attempts to kick at his shins, but it only makes him chuckle. Before he removes her panties, he takes off his own shirt, which has her a little puzzled.

Still, she refuses to complain, appreciating the first sight of his abs. After meeting her gaze, Bellamy cups her mound, groaning at the feeling of her wetness. Despite the fact that her anticipation is obvious, he asks, “Do you want this?” He won’t accept anything less than an eager, ‘ _yes, Bellamy. Just fucking do it!’_ in response.

When she’s consented, Bellamy slips his finger inside her, and she moans as he applies a delicate pressure to her clit, getting her used to the stimulation for a minute. Arching her back off the mattress, Clarke bites back a gasp once he adds a second finger. “Do something with your hands. Or at least one of them,” he suggests, which has her cupping her breast. 

“That’s good, but your fingers should be wet.”

Honestly, it’s difficult to focus on doing anything while he’s rubbing the most sensitive part of her body, fucking her with his fingers, but she takes his advice, sucking her thumb into her mouth before trailing it down the valley between her breasts. Humming, Bellamy places kisses to her lower belly as the heat coils there, causing her thighs to tremble… 

“ _Holy shit_ —” It’s as if she’s moments away from combusting in the best way possible if the stars that appear behind her eyelids are any indication. 

“I’m close,” she breathes raggedly after a few minutes. “So fucking close,” and yet somehow she still fears that she won’t get there after all, that it’s not possible. Crooking his fingers inside her, Bellamy tells her to stop thinking, to shut her brain off for just a moment. He promises to deliver, but it isn’t enough to prevent her from doubting it.

“Bellamy, I can’t—“ The frustration in her bones is making tears burn alongside the constellations behind her eyelids. Wordlessly, he pulls his fingers out of her to move up her body. A whimper escapes her at that, sounding like a sob. Determined, Bellamy aligns his erection with her center, grinding slowly against her as he presses his fingertips to her parted lips. In the end, tasting herself is the surprise that finally pushes her off the edge, pulling a broken moan from her throat. 

Bellamy kisses her neck through the aftershocks, smiles at her when she has calmed down. Her cheeks flushed, forehead damp from the drops of sweat that have gathered there, Clarke sighs, overcome with relief. Chuckling, he watches her, sparks lighting up his gaze. “I hate to be that person, but _I told you so,_ “ he teases, brushing his lips against her jawline. 

“Shut up,” she mumbles, but the retaliation is contradicted by the grateful smile on her face. “Was it difficult?”

“Nah, not really, but you need to remember that an orgasm is mental, too. If you think you can’t come, there’s a huge possibility that you won’t.”

Worrying her lower lip, Clarke nods and buries her fingertips in the dark curls of his hair despite knowing that she’s not supposed to. Now that she’s come down from the high, however, it’s impossible not to notice that he’s still hard against her, so she asks, “Want me to take care of that for you?”

It takes him a second to realize what she’s referring to, yet as soon as he does, he clears his throat awkwardly. “I’ll deal with it myself,” even though he says this, the tone of his voice indicates that he’s struggling to resist the temptation of what she’s offering. Therefore, she arches her eyebrow.

“You sure?” 

“Yeah. We had a deal. Besides, it’s not like I haven’t gotten anything out of this,” he smiles at her in reassurance before putting on his shirt and heading for the door. “I’ll have to take a long shower, though,” after adding that, he winks at her, his dark brown eyes lingering on hers for a while once she faces him, resting her head on her forearm.

“Fine. As you wish… Goodnight, Bellamy.” 

“Goodnight, Clarke.”

For the first time in a month, she actually sleeps through the night, as the stress seems to have seeped out of her bones and relaxation has settled there instead.

 

* * *

 

The very first rays of sunshine wake her the next morning, and she’s not even mad at them for it, feeling unbelievably refreshed. Frankly, she considers skipping her morning cup of caffeine, but the tip of her tongue longs for the well-rounded taste of coffee beans, so she doesn’t. Unsurprisingly, she finds that it’s a lot more enjoyable to drink coffee when it’s not used as fuel.

In her classes, she’s more attentive than she has been in a long time and her drawings become more detailed, more passionate. Although she doesn’t want to give the orgasm all of the credit for her improved effort, but it’s difficult.. It’s especially hard to avoid thinking of Bellamy, mostly in slight astonishment because she still doesn’t quite know if last night was a dream… Whenever her mind drifts to everything that happened, it almost seems surreal.

At lunchtime, Raven catches up with her as she’s walking towards a nice Thai restaurant across from campus. “How did your project turn out last night?” 

“Huh?” Clarke replies before taking the time to think. _Fuck, she needs a quick save…_ “Oh, it turned out alright, I think, although I’m still not completely pleased with it. “

“What’s new?” Bumping her shoulder against hers, Raven grins, which hopefully means that she’s not suspicious. Together, they eat fried noodles at the restaurant instead of bringing it back to campus, because Raven admits to being in pain after the dancing she did last night. When she was fourteen, she was in a car accident that left her with chronic pain and a braced leg, but of course — it’s Raven fucking Reyes, and there’s a huge possibility that she might be the most badass person on the planet. Her dream is to work for NASA, which is why Clarke’s last gift to her was a coffee mug that reads ‘ _future NASA employee’._ It’s only fitting…

After having lunch with her roommate, Clarke’s on her way back to the dorm, ready for a well-deserved date with Netflix. However, she spots Miller heading down the hall, followed by Monty, and suddenly the temptation is too great. She has to ask, “Have you seen Bellamy? There’s something I need to discuss with him.”

“Oh lord, here we go again…” Despite his words, there’s a distinctive teasing glint in his eye. “The last time I saw him was about five minutes ago in room 085. I need him alive, though, Griffin. We’re going to the gym tonight.” 

Room 085 is a small lecture room, which is usually unoccupied because most classes can’t fit in there, but sometimes people go there to study or work on projects. This is why, when she finds Bellamy in the room, he’s sadly not the only person there. Still, she’ll do her best to make sure that they’ll be alone.

“Blake, you got a minute?”

Immediately, he looks up, plastering on a frown. Glancing at the group of students sitting at the left side of the room, he replies, “What do you want, Princess?” 

As the tone of his voice moves into faked annoyance and she begins to walk towards him, Clarke notices out of the corner of her eye that the other students have chosen to desert the room before shit hits the fan. The rivalry between Griffin and Blake of the debate team is well known on the entire campus, and apparently people understand when to make an exit, even though it’s a little weird that they wouldn’t want to stay to witness the drama. It’s all going according to Clarke’s plan, though, and she quickly locks the door once they have room 085 to themselves. 

“I never got to show my appreciation for what you did for me last night,” her voice is low, laced with suggestion, but it only pulls at the corners of Bellamy’s mouth, creating a teasing smile on his face.

Then, he walks to her, his hands buried in his pockets, his path towards her paved with confidence. “You can just hand me the presidency as a token of your gratefulness.”

Placing her hand on his chest, Clarke pulls a little at the fabric of his t-shirt. Of course, he’s only joking, but she uses it to her advantage, to try and surprise him once more by saying, “You know that’s not gonna happen, but… I could blow you.” 

Slowly, she bites her lower lip and gazes at him, her ocean eyes certain as they hold his. For a moment, it seems as if her offer has rendered him speechless, as he can do nothing except stare at her. Determined, Clarke takes another inch of the space between them, which sets him into motion, making him capture her lips with his own. He kissed her last night, too, but this time it’s different: The patient yet consuming movements of his lips, the brush of his tongue against hers — it makes her sigh desperately, her body screaming for _more,_ to be closer to him. 

Turning around, Clarke wraps her hand in the fabric of his t-shirt and takes a few steps until he backs into a table. With one hand, he pulls her closer, grabbing the edge of the table with the other. However, she only stays in his arms for a short time, pulling away to undo his belt. Exhaling raggedly, Bellamy assures her, “You really don’t have to do this, Clarke.” 

“You don’t want it?”

“Only if _you_ want to do it,” when he looks at her, his gaze is soft and almost black due to his dilated pupils. It makes him look even sexier.

Smiling as she pulls down his pants, Clarke arches her brow, allowing her eyes to linger at the bulge in his boxer briefs before she says, “If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have gone looking for you, would I?” 

Considering that he wraps his fingertips in the golden waves of her hair, those words convince him of how much she wants this. Fluttering his eyes shut as she kisses his hip, Bellamy confesses, “The sounds you made last night have been torturing me all day… _Oh fuck_ , you wreck me, Princess,” that last part emerges at the edge of a moan when she takes his cock into her mouth. Smugly, she raises her eyebrows again, smiling a little, but since his eyes are already closed, he can’t tell.

Because of the fact that he didn’t say much last night, she sure as hell doesn’t expect him to be _this_ vocal. His praise is endless, making the blood pulse faster through her veins and encouraging her to keep sucking as the ache between her legs grows. When his knees begin to buckle slightly, indicating that he’s close, he warns her, but to his surprise, she has no interest in stopping because of that. “You’re really gonna—? _Oh my God…_ ”

It takes a while for his breathing to slow after he’s come apart, and as soon as it does, he utters something that she never thought he’d say. “You’re a fucking goddess, you know that?”

“Can you write it down for me? I need that statement on paper,” she teases, rising to her feet once he’s pulled his pants up. Then she leans in to place a chaste kiss to his throat, yet something causes her to stall: At the side of his neck, a fresh bruise, a purple _hickey,_ is blooming and she knows that it wasn’t there last night while he was in her room, or when he left it.

Quickly, she puts two and two together. Numbers have never made her angrier. Battling a frown, she steps away from him as if he burned her before a lie moves past her lips, “I have a class to attend.”

At that, his brow furrows. “But Clarke—“

“I’ll be _late,_ Bellamy. See you on Friday.”

Trying not to storm out, she leaves the room without looking back. This time, it isn’t disappointment that settles in her heart; somehow, it’s the heavy feeling of _betrayal._

 

* * *

 

Despite the fact that she knows it makes no sense for her to be angry, she still spends the rest of the afternoon fuming in the dorm room and makes up a shitty excuse not to go to dinner with Raven and Luna because her appetite is failing. _Roma, for crying out loud… Roma!_ She should’ve seen that mark before she decided to go down on him. _Fuck, what’s his problem?_ Yeah, she knew that he wouldn’t exclusively sleep with her at any point. She didn’t even _want_ that, but to think that he would… right after they…

Speak of the devil, and the devil walks in no matter how unwelcome he is. “Do you have a minute?”

“No. I need to work—“

At that, Bellamy’s voice changes. “Bullshit, Clarke. You lied to me earlier, so maybe you should tell me why you left like that. Did something freak you out?” Surely, she’s witnessed his anger many times before during a debate, but this kind of anger is different, it’s _personal._

Maybe that’s why she decides to confront him with _her_ personal anger, too. Staring at him, her usually pretty blue eyes have turned to daggers, but for now her voice is calm, even though it’s filled with bitter poison. “There’s a fresh hickey at the side of your throat, have you noticed? It wasn’t there last night and I sure as hell didn’t leave it, so tell me… Did you really take care of that hard-on yourself, or did you take it to Roma for a late night fuck?” 

Of course, her words stun him for a short while, causing him to blink. “Clarke…” Speaking her name, the anger seems to have left his voice, but the fury is continuously making _her_ blood boil, so she interrupts before he can say anything more. 

“Tell me the _truth_ , Bellamy.”

Stepping closer, his face turns hard as stone again as he crosses his arms, closing himself off. Then, he sighs, explaining without taking his eyes off hers, “I took a shower, I jerked off, and yes, I went to see her. It was late and she was drunk after the sorority party, so she thought I was there to have sex. In _reality,_ I just wanted to tell her that I wasn’t gonna sleep with her anymore… and— the only way I could get her to listen to me was if she gave me the hickey while I spoke.”

Clarke wants to believe him, wants to trust his words, but given that there’s no actual proof to back up his story, it’s very difficult. When she asks him why she should believe him, he even acknowledges it himself, saying, “There’s no reason why you should, but I’m not gonna lie, it would be fucking nice if you just trusted me this once, Clarke. Trusted that I would _never_ do something like that to you. Or to Roma… But I guess you can’t.” Tearing his eyes away from hers, Bellamy turns his back to her, taking the first step towards the door.

The bitterness of his words actually stings, makes her feel guilty for jumping to conclusions. Because while she might not trust him entirely, she _should_ know him enough — from listening to his opinions every week for three years — to understand his moral compass and which way it turns. Without thinking, she calls out for him, “Bellamy, wait! _Bellamy_ …”

And it’s a sign of true desperation that, when he turns around to face her, she kisses him, not caring about the roughness of it. For some time, he doesn’t either, responding with angry passion by biting her lower lip and nailing her against the wall. She gasps into his mouth, pulling at the material of his shirt while he pulls at her zipper.

“ _Fuck me,”_ she moans into his ear, grinding slowly against his hand as it is touches her panties. Instead of obliging, Bellamy takes his mouth off hers, removing the hand from the danger zone. Then he stares at her, and despite clearly being turned on, he ignores her heavy breathing and her swollen lips. 

“No. If you don’t trust me, then you should just get yourself a vibrator and leave me out of it. I’m not going to fuck someone who’s not comfortable with me, Clarke. I’m not that cruel.” 

“I—” Is what she croaks, her voice suddenly strangled in her throat.

But Bellamy doesn’t let her finish, leaving her amongst the ruins, the damage that they’ve caused. Staring at the closed door, Clarke doesn’t even remember being angry a minute ago, but she curses herself for thinking that choosing Bellamy would save her from loss. It didn’t… at least, that’s what the tears on her cheeks tell her.

* * *

 

Once the weekly meeting of the debate team rolls around, Bellamy and Clarke haven’t spoken for days. They’ve avoided each other in art history class like always, haven’t offered each other Colombian coffee or cigarettes, and the tiny acts of consideration that their relationship was built on have been lost in the midst of distrust. Despite this, her eyes still find him from time to time until she shakes out of it, reminding herself that longing makes no sense.

To distract herself, she has gone with Raven to coffee shops, to restaurants. Hell, she even went shopping for once, but the shadow of everything that was left unfinished keeps lurking at the back of her mind. It starts to dawn on her that she can’t actually hate him… That maybe she never did. Not really.

This feeling becomes even clearer when she expects a huge fight during the debate meeting and it doesn’t happen. It shocks everyone that the two rivals have no words for each other, nothing to argue about or comment on, because there isn’t anything left to fight over. It’s all said and done… 

At least that’s what she thinks until he grabs her arm before she can be the last person to leave the meeting room. Turning around, she faces his unexpected tenderness, the earth of his eyes, which is almost too much to bear. “Clarke…” He starts, swallowing hard. “I just wanted to—“ 

She shakes her head, suddenly battling against the tears that clog her throat. “Don’t apologize. I took your advice… I bought a vibrator. We shouldn’t hurt each other, Bellamy, and if we don’t trust each other, we shouldn’t be having sex.”

Afterwards, he stares at her, his gaze still soft, his lips parting as his mind struggles to find the words. Although Clarke knows that she should leave, something keeps her anchored right there in front of him. When he finally speaks, his words are a mere whisper. “Did you really?”

Revealing her lie this early seems odd, but she doesn’t want to do more damage, and therefore she shakes her head, which has him giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. It’s not easy to determine whether he pulls her closer or she steps into his arms, but they hug. The material of his sweater is so soft and warm against her cheek that she finds herself inhaling the scent of it, of _him._ For some reason, she’s never paid attention to it before, but she realizes that it’s full of pine and something that reminds her of sunshine and rain all at once.

“Let’s start over,” he murmurs into her hair, to which she nods in response, smiling out of relief. “I think this is a good beginning. I’m sorry, Clarke.”

“I’m sorry too.”

 

 **This is the second Big Bang, the _new_ beginning, the creation of a different universe: ** Bellamy shows Clarke his dorm, and she’s overwhelmed by how many things he’s managed to fit in his half of the room: Stacks of books, a star map, two globes, an old typewriter and a record player… Smiling, she lies down on his bed, and he asks if there’s anything that surprises her. 

“This,” she admits, pointing to the small pansexuality flag that’s pinned to the wall a few inches above her head. In response, he grins a little sheepishly, running a hand through the back of his hair. He then tells her about realizing that he wasn’t straight in high school but not having the courage to come out until he was twenty-one, mostly because he had yet to find a label that he thought suited his identity. 

“I came out when I was seventeen,” Clarke says as he sits down with a big-ass bowl of dry Coco Puffs, reasoning that ‘he didn’t have anything more edible’. Leaning back against the wall, Bellamy listens intently as she continues, “When I met my ex-girlfriend. Have you ever been to Pride?”

Shaking his head, he stands up, finding his glasses in the top drawer of his desk. She’s never seen him wear them before, but she’ll admit that they make him look quite adorable. “I haven’t, but I’ll go next year with Miller and Monty, I think.” 

When she smiles, they fall into silence, and even though it’s not an uncomfortable one, Bellamy breaks it after a moment to ask, “Is this gonna work?” At the question, she brushes her fingertips over the back of his hand. She holds his gaze again, taking enough time to search it for all of the shades of brown that hide within it.

“Maybe. If we can put the past behind us.”

  

That’s what they work on despite it proving to be difficult when they don’t want their friends or fellow debate team members to know anything. Involving others in a budding friendship can do more damage than good, so they choose to keep it to themselves for a while, as they sneak out before classes in the morning to drink coffee, and spend the weekends together. Sometimes, they   simply walk around New York with no destination, ending up in Central Park to have ice cream; sometimes, they share culinary experiences, trying everything from churros to escargot. 

Hanging out with Bellamy is remarkably… _Fun —_ it’s exciting, as if she’s experiencing a new taste of life.

On this particular rainy September day, they went to the Museum of Modern Art to discuss artistic expression, but they also ended up playfully joking around, competing to see who could make the worst possible pun (spoiler alert: Bellamy won). Now, they’re walking back to the subway, and he throws an arm around her, pulling her closer in a hopeless attempt to shelter her from the rain and strong winds. As thanks, she presses a kiss to his freckled cheek, and he responds by pressing one into the crown of her hair.

“Can I draw you when we get back?” The question emerges from her lips without permission, but luckily Bellamy only smiles, amusement shining through his eyes.

“Of course.” 

The reason why she wants to make an attempt at drawing him right now is because she — in the past two weeks — has managed to discover some of his other layers, the ones that go much deeper than his smug exterior. When you dig deeper, Bellamy’s a huge goof and much more mellow than he appears: _He’s soft like velvet…_

_And bright as the stars…_

 

Trying to capture him is like trying to capture the whole damn universe; every particle, every star, and every burst of color. To paint his skin, she mixes eight different shades of brown, and another one just for his freckles. She struggles to create the light that beams through his eyes, the crinkles that form by them when he smiles and the dimple in his chin. _Shit,_ he’s a masterpiece. 

Her artistic heart is brought to tears.

It’s literally impossible to draw him, but she shows him her best shot, deciding that she has to present him with a result when he’s been sitting still for almost two hours. Of course, she fears the worst, even though this is far from a formal art critique. At the sight of the drawing, Bellamy radiates like sunbeams. “This is amazing, Clarke. How did you do that? I love it.”

“You can have it if you want,” she tells him, and he gladly takes it, stating that he would put it on his wall immediately if it wasn’t for her signature in the corner. Miller’s observant, much like a hawk, which means that he would quickly spot whom the artist behind the portrait is.

 

* * *

 

Because she’s aware that she hasn’t been the best of friends lately, Clarke agrees to go with Raven to a frat party, which is hosted by their fellow students John Murphy and John Mbege. Based entirely on the rumors that circle around campus, the two Johns have a reputation for hosting _‘sick’_ parties. However, one of them — Murphy — is said to be more in line now that he’s gotten a serious girlfriend. 

The September winds are officially starting to become chilly, dancing around them and creating goosebumps on her bare legs, so Clarke’s relieved that the party is _indoors_ , even though it’s at a fraternity. Linking her arm with Raven, she heads inside only to almost be blown straight out of the building again by the loud, overwhelming bass noise. 

“I’m so glad you’re here!” Raven shouts, knowing that this by far isn’t Clarke’s ideal social environment. She smiles, looking around the crowded room in search of people she knows, but so far she doesn’t have any luck. Instead, she follows her best friend to the drinks table, which is being supervised by a young woman who has a fierce glint in her brown eyes. Without as much as a smile, she passes two Red Solo cups to Raven and Clarke before pouring their request of vodka-cranberry.

“Emori, is everything under control?” That voice belongs to John Murphy, a rather pale, scrawny-looking man, and Clarke knows it’s bad to judge, but if he hadn’t greeted the girl — Emori, apparently — with a kiss on the cheek, she would’ve never thought that he was her type.

“Yeah. It’s fine. Nobody gets past me,” Emori replies, finally cracking a radiant smile. Before leaving again, Murphy nods at Clarke and Raven, trying to nudge them onto the dance floor. _No problem._ The flickering lights and sea of sweaty strangers create an intense atmosphere, but as long as Clarke has a drink in her hand and Raven in front of her, she’ll be able to forget about that. 

Raven’s a better dancer than her, though, which tends to get her a lot of unwanted male attention. She always deals with that problem perfectly by yelling something along the lines of ‘ _my girlfriend thinks I’m hot, too! Sorry boys, places to go!’_ which never fails to crack Clarke up. After the first song, they both take a huge sip of their drinks, and suddenly Clarke catches a glimpse of Miller in the corner, making out with his boyfriend. _Well, no surprise there… But if they’re here, does that mean Bellamy is, too?_ Quickly, her eyes scan the place for him, yet sadly to no avail, so she lets Raven pull her back to reality, back to another dance…

… And another drink until she’s feeling desperate for something salty and has to head for the snack table at the end of the room, barely managing not to drown in the ocean of people. When she has finally gets there, however, she is brought to an abrupt stall, because none other than _Bellamy_ is leaning against the edge of the table while their fellow debate team member, Echo Asgaard, has her hand curled around his bicep. 

“I’m not a dancer. Sorry… Clarke!” Whipping his head around, Bellamy clearly finds it difficult to bite back the urge to smile once his eyes settle on her. Giving Echo a pointed look, he sends her away and once she’s out of reach, he grabs Clarke by the waist, pulling her flush against him.

“Hey,” he breathes into her ear, smiling against her cheek. “You look amazing.”

She does. It was Raven who picked out this daring outfit for her: A little black dress and tights. Simple but dangerous…

“You don’t look so bad yourself. You have a fair share of admirers,” she replies, trying to sound nonchalant as she plays with the collar of his white button up. This motion causes him to stare at her hands and lick his lower lip, which makes it obvious that he has to use every ounce of willpower in him to resist the urge to put his mouth on hers right then and there. With a mischievous smile pulling at the corners of her lips, Clarke murmurs, “I think we should see if one of the rooms upstairs is unoccupied.”

To their sheer luck, all of the stars align in their favor, meaning that there _is_ an empty room upstairs and they manage to sneak into it unnoticed. It’s small, but they’ll take what they can get. As soon as Bellamy’s closed the door, the atmosphere changes, causing her breath to grow heavier. Now that he can, he walks to her eagerly, scooping her off the floor to capture her lips with his own. This kiss is very similar to the one they shared before she gave him the blowjob, the only distinction being that he’s _smiling_ against her mouth now, and to be honest, that makes all of the difference in the world.

“You’re really quite possessive,” he teases once they’ve parted for air. “… For a sex friend,” Most likely, he’s referring to the jealous glint he saw in her gaze when she realized that Echo was touching him.

In response, Clarke raises her eyebrows. “What sex? We haven’t done it in three weeks, Bellamy. And we’ve only ever done it once… twice,” she pouts, which only intrigues him more. “Besides, that wasn’t even _real_ sex. It was—“

At that, Bellamy chuckles, kissing fire down her throat. “Real sex, huh? Trust me, Princess. I’ll give you real sex,” those words, spoken in his gruff voice, are enough to make her shiver in anticipation as his hands move to her back, encompassing her in the warmth that radiates off his body. 

“Now, please,” honestly, she never thought she’d _beg_ for him like this, but it makes sense when you consider how sexually frustrated she’s been since he left her in the dorm with wetness between her legs. Pulling at his hair, she gasps when he begins to suck at her pulse point, slowly backing her towards the wall. As fireworks start to go off in the pit of her stomach, Bellamy unzips her dress just enough to reveal the lace of her bra and tease one of her nipples through it, earning a moan from her.

“Do you trust me?” He murmurs, lifting her off the floor by her thighs and resting his forehead against hers briefly. The question makes her heart swell, her ocean eyes gazing into his before she says ‘ _yes’._ This time, that statement couldn’t be truer or more meaningful, because they’ve finally achieved what they’ve been trying to build for the past three weeks. _Trust…_

Determined, Bellamy lets his hands move beneath her dress to pull her thin, black tights off, and the sensation of his fingertips travelling down the sensitive skin of her thighs has her eyes fluttering shut. Once he’s removed them, he wastes little time, proving to be as hungry for it as she is when finds her clit through the fabric of her panties and starts to circle it with the pad of his thumb. 

“ _Oh…_ ” When she leans forward a bit, Bellamy buries his free hand in the waves of her hair, supporting the back of her head so she doesn’t strain her neck too much. As he continues to touch the most sensitive part of her, Clarke whimpers and sighs, trying to hold the moans back in case anyone’s within earshot. 

“Still can’t get yourself off?” He asks empathetically, placing a chaste kiss to her jawline. Then, he removes her panties, which makes it difficult to focus, but Clarke manages to shake her head.

“Haven’t tried… Do you have a condom?”

He replies that there’s one in the back pocket of his pants, ready for her to grab. Obviously, she always has a condom with her in her purse for safety purposes, but this is _way more_ fun, as she playfully swats at his ass after pulling the foil wrapper out of the pocket. “Were you planning to get laid tonight?” 

Grinning, he undoes his belt to pull down his pants and boxer briefs, but despite this, the only thing that she can look at for a minute is the sparks that light up his gaze when he admits, “Yeah, I was sort of hoping that you’d be here.” 

 _Oh my God, it is truly exclusive then. He only wants to fuck her…_ The realization makes her somewhat dizzy, even a little confused, but that’s just until he places his hand on her cheek, searching her eyes, which takes her breath away. Before putting his mouth on hers, Bellamy brushes his thumb across her lower lip and doesn’t take his eyes away when he starts to push into her. _It’s so unbelievably hot._

Nonetheless, given that she’s never been with a man like this before, Clarke needs a moment to adjust, clinging to his shoulders. As soon as he feels her relax, he starts to move, his thrusts deep enough to drive her spine further up the wall. “Oh god, Bellamy,” she gasps, surprised and turned on by his strength, the muscles in his back that flex under her touch. Because he hasn’t taken his shirt off, she can’t actually feel them that well, but it’s better than nothing. Kissing her throat hotly, he groans against her skin, anchoring himself by grabbing her thighs tighter. _Damn, his fingerprints are gonna be there in the morning..._  

Some minutes later, his knees begin to give in slightly as he is brought closer to edge by the sounds of pleasure that emerge from her parted lips. Unwavering from his plan to get her off, Bellamy sneaks his hand between them to find her clit again just as there’s a knock at the door.

“Clarke, are you in there? Luna’s here!” It’s Raven, of course. Luckily, Clarke knows just how to make her disappear.

“I’m a bit… busy, Reyes!”

Proving that he still has the ability to annoy her, Bellamy runs his finger along her folds at that, causing a moan to stumble out of her mouth. She glares at him, swatting at his arm, but the sound of pleasure appears to convince Raven more than anything else. 

“Who are you with?” She asks curiously at first, and Clarke imagines her wiggling her eyebrows. 

“It’s not the time, Raven! Go make out with Luna, please!” 

Well, that’s a request that her best friend has no trouble following, and as Bellamy and Clarke are finally left to their own devices again, he bites at her shoulder before he pushes her off the edge using his fingers, just like the first time. While in the haze of her orgasm, Clarke wonders how it would feel if he did it with his mouth… 

She loves those full lips, which part as he lets himself go, his eyelids fluttering shut around a groan. 

“Now that…” Clarke grins, chuckling when he presses kisses to her throat before putting her down. “…Was good sex,” frankly, she finds it a little difficult to stand, because her knees feel as though they’re too weak to carry her at this point. Buttoning and straightening his shirt, Bellamy winks at her. 

“Real sex, right?”

She laughs at that, taking her tights and panties that he hands to her. Quickly, they agree on a plan that will get them both out of this room without revealing that they were here _together._ During the time that it takes Clarke to put her clothes, he slips out of the room, but she has to wait another four minutes until it’s safe for her to leave. 

Finding Raven, she has to pry the grin off her face, although she doesn’t succeed completely, prompting her friend to ask, “Was it _that_ great?” She then sends Clarke a look that speaks for itself: _I want you to tell me all about this hot stranger later,_ but Clarke remains secretive, smirking as she replies.

“Oh yeah.”

 

* * *

 

Once November rolls around, it becomes increasingly difficult for Bellamy and Clarke to argue during their weekly debate team meeting. An attempt at bickering usually ends in one of them succumbing to _bedroom eyes,_ and of course it raises some suspicion amongst the group, but so far no one has said anything. In art history, they’re now seated next to each other, sharing her Colombian coffee and helping one another with notes. 

To Clarke, Bellamy quickly becomes the best form of stress-relief, and it isn’t just about sex or his (fantastic) body — No, he makes her _relax_ , cracking his lame, flirty jokes at any opportunity. He braids her hair, massages her shoulders, kisses her cheek, and she can only hope that she has the same calming effect on him when she runs her fingers through his hair.

Mornings with him are her favorite thing. Whenever they get the chance to wake up together, they spend an hour cuddling before bothering to get out of bed. Usually, he makes them both cereal, and since they can only do this at the weekends, they always take a daytrip afterwards to explore New York.

This Saturday, however, Clarke wakes up, rolling onto her side, anticipating the warm sensation of Bellamy’s bare skin against hers… but he’s not there. Instead, the empty sheets make her frown in disappointment, and after staring at the ceiling long enough to realize that he isn’t simply in the bathroom, she reaches for her phone on the bedside table and dials him.

As opposed to greeting him, she decides to scold him the minute he picks up. “I can’t believe you left me naked here! Where are you?” 

There’s a few seconds of awkward silence, then… “Hey, Clarke.” 

The voice absolutely _horrifies_ her, because it’s not Bellamy’s. Placing her hand over her mouth slightly, she keeps herself from gasping.

“Miller!” Her voice is thick with discomfort, it’s so fucking obvious, which is why she decides to not to come up with some bullshit lie. “Sorry, I just...”

“Clearly was expecting Bellamy to pick up. I get it. He’s here with me.”

“Where is ‘here’ exactly?” She replies, raising an eyebrow. 

“At the grocery store. He needed to pick something up, said it was important. He left me with his phone while he went to another aisle.” 

Huffing, Clarke thinks, _yeah that sounds like Bellamy._ Trusting other people with his phone even though anyone else would take it with them. Unlike many college students, Bellamy isn’t addicted to his cellphone, which is something that Clarke values a lot _._ He’d much rather pay attention to her than to social media when they go out, and since she feels the same way, they get to spend much more _quality_ time together, staring into each other’s eyes and other cute shit.

“I’ll tell him you called. And that you’re naked.”

It’s funny that Miller’s amusement is almost never present in his voice. He’s a snarker, deadpanning his way through life. It’s hilarious, to say the least, and everyone loves him for it, but right now it’s a little awkward. For her….

“Oh, he knows that.”

Since Miller doesn’t reply to that right away, she figures that he has become distracted by something, most likely Bellamy’s return, as she can hear their voices in the background and makes out what they’re saying. 

Miller: “Your girlfriend is on the line.”

Bellamy: “I don’t have a girlfriend, dumbass… I didn’t tell you to pick up.”

Miller (ignoring everything that his best friend just said): “She’s pissed, man.”

Well, that’s not true. She’s not _pissed,_ simply disappointed, which is what she expresses to Bellamy once _he_ is finally the one she’s speaking to. “We always cuddle in the morning,” she murmurs, fidgeting with the seam of the bed sheet.

“I know,” is what he replies, sounding genuinely disappointed himself. “I had to pick up a few things before lunchtime, and you looked so beautiful while you slept, I couldn’t bear to wake you.”

 _Beautiful…_ _Wow_. He’s never called her that before, and if the way he clears his throat is any indication, his choice of words surprises even him. They agree to meet at Times Square at 2 p.m. to go shopping, which is something they actually haven’t done together yet, and then hang up. More than anything, Clarke is anxious to find out how Bellamy plans to deal with Miller, since he _knows_ now.

  

As it turns out, Miller was just fucking confused by the change in their relationship and that they had chosen to keep it on the down-low, but Bellamy assures Clarke that he isn’t going to tell anyone, not even Monty, which is a big deal for him. _Really._ Bellamy had to promise to go with his best friend to a hockey game in order to have him keep a secret from his boyfriend. 

“They have the cutest relationship.”

“They do,” Bellamy agrees, smiling widely as Clarke holds a low-cut blue top in front of her, requesting his opinion. 

“It looks great.” 

Still doubtful, Clarke turns the piece of clothing around to look at it, glancing at the price tag. “Not too much boob?” In response to that, he chuckles.

“I’m biased. Not the right person to ask, because there will never be such a thing as _too much of your boobs_ for me.”

That comment has a grin growing on Clarke’s face and a flirty glint settling in her blue eyes. After giving it another second of thought, she — to his immense delight — announces that she’s buying it. For a moment, Bellamy allows himself to gush about how the color will match her eyes, make them _pop_ , and the compliments make her heart flicker like candles in the dark. He boosts her confidence all the time, which says a lot considering the fact that she doesn’t actually _lack_ any. When they’re in bed, he raves about her body, about her curves — when they’re in class, he points out how intelligent he thinks she is. It’s a huge difference from how he _used_ to speak to her, and it lightens her up so much. 

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” She inquires, trying to make it sound as nonchalant as possible, as if there isn’t an invitation resting on the tip of her tongue at the moment. 

To her happiness, he shrugs, replying, “I don’t know yet. I was planning to spend it with my sister, but she’s chosen to stay with some friends, and as long as she’s happy, I’m happy.” 

Bellamy’s younger sister, Octavia, has been a frequent subject of their conversations, mostly because he adores her so much. Lately, he’s opened up to Clarke about the huge part that he played in her upbringing, because their mother worked from nine to five six days out of the week just to keep them secure. _The struggles of the working people..._

Finally, his resentment towards the upper class is beginning to make sense. Although he hasn’t said so himself, it’s very clear that Bellamy had to sacrifice a great portion of his own childhood to care for his little sister, and nothing could make him appear more selfless or amiable in her mind.

Pretending to think for a minute, Clarke says, “Hey. You could spend it with me. I’m going home, but my mom said that I could bring a friend if I wanted to,” the last couple of years, she’s brought Raven, but she’s spending it with her girlfriend this year for obvious reasons.

Bellamy pulls her closer at that, grinning into the crown of her hair. “Friend, huh?” It actually makes her _giggle,_ which is a rare reaction from her, and heat rises to her cheeks as she pushes him lightly in embarrassment.

“Yes, _friend…_ Do you wanna come or what?”

Now it’s Bellamy’s turn to pretend that he’s thinking about it, rubbing at the stubble on his chin while humming exaggeratedly. _Gosh, he’s such a dork._ “Yeah, alright. I’ll spend Thanksgiving with you, Princess.”

Unable to hide her excitement, Clarke wraps her arms around his neck, and — because he has the strength of the fucking _Hulk_ — he lifts her a few inches off the ground using only one arm. Once they’ve left Forever 21, Bellamy insists on getting ice cream to celebrate their newfound Thanksgiving plans despite the fact that it’s literally 45 degrees outside. Whatever. Ice cream always does the trick, especially Italian gelato, which is Bellamy’s favorite. He introduced her to it last month while they were picnicking in Central Park, and she’s loved it ever since, realizing that her taste buds have never been more cultured than they are now that she’s hanging out with Bellamy all the time.

Since her mother’s undoubtedly at work, Clarke leaves a message for her on her cell. 

_Hi Mom. I’m just calling to tell you that I’ve found a friend to bring to Thanksgiving instead of Raven. His name is Bellamy, he’s in my art history class and a member of the debate team. He’s very nice. I think you’ll like him. Say hi to Marcus for me. Bye._

“Who’s Marcus?” Bellamy asks, wiping some chocolate gelato off her upper lip with his thumb. Quickly, it hits her that she hasn’t told him much about her family. It makes her stare blankly ahead for a minute before she mumbles, “He’s my mom’s boyfriend.”

Her sudden absent-mindedness makes him worried, and he places a hand on her shoulder, assuring her, “You don’t have to tell me anything.” 

But Clarke only looks at him, almost brought to tears by the softness in his patience. “No, I want to tell you, but not here. I need cuddling for that.”

 

When they arrive back at NYU, Miller’s in the dorm, but all it takes is a single look from Bellamy, who has an arm locked around Clarke waist, for him to leave the room to them. Managing a smile, she feels grateful that it was him that found out first, because he’s casual and loyal, always willing to do what’s needed to make others feel comfortable. 

“You want to borrow a t-shirt?” Bellamy asks, rummaging through the top drawer of his dresser. 

“One of yours? Are you prepared to never have it given back to you?”

At that, he smiles fondly, throwing one with a faded _Eagles_ sports logo at the front, and she grabs it just as he replies, “I don’t mind. I rarely wear them anyway, and they probably look a lot better on you than me.” It’s true about him not wearing t-shirts that often. Usually, it’s a comfy sweater, a button-up if he’s feeling slightly more formal or his favorite blue Henley that he wears almost every week.

Once she’s put it on, they lie down on the bed together, and when he interlaces their fingers, she begins to tell him about her family. “I worshipped my dad while I was growing up. He taught me almost everything I know. Everything from riding a bike to repairing a bathroom sink… And then there’s art, of course. He was an engineer, but he loved painting and drawing as much as I do.” Her use of the past tense has Bellamy’s brow furrowing in compassion, his thumb caressing her cheekbone. “When I was fifteen, we discovered that he had a malignant brain tumor. My mom blamed herself, because she was a doctor and failed to notice the symptoms. Of course, we tried everything we could: surgery, chemotherapy… but… nothing worked, and I had to watch him fade away like that. There was nothing I could do to save him.” When she starts to cry, Bellamy pulls her closer, wrapping her up in his warmth and presses a lingering kiss into her hair. “He passed away after nine months, and I remember spending the majority of the last three in the hospital, clutching his hand and praying that he wouldn’t let go. But eventually he did, and four years later after I finished high school, my mom met Marcus. He’s been living with us since.” 

“And how is he?” Bellamy asks carefully, pressing a kiss to her forehead this time. Clarke sniffles, burying her head in the soft material of his sweater.

“He’s a good man. But he’s not my dad.”

“No, of course not.”

Naturally, Clarke is glad that her mom has found someone who can make her laugh again, someone to share her life with. She deserves that. However, it’s still weird returning to that big house and not having her dad greet her with hugs and smiles. It doesn’t smell like him anymore, and even though his pictures remain throughout the house (on Marcus’ insistence), his spirit seems to have disappeared. It breaks her heart, and hopefully it will be easier to have Bellamy there with her.

 

* * *

 

Bellamy and Clarke arrive at her house for Thanksgiving break before Abby has finished her shift at the hospital, which gives them plenty of time for a tour. Like he’d expected, Clarke’s house is _a lot_ fancier than the small apartment he grew up in. It’s furnished with expensive, white couches, wooden tables and a huge Apple TV at the center of the living room. Still, he’s surprised by how homey it is, as there are flowers and family photos in every corner, blankets and comfortable pillows.

It’s a different kind of homey than the one he’s used to, but it’s homey nonetheless.

“Wow, your room is definitely my favorite part of this house,” Bellamy remarks once he’s had the chance to look around. It’s huge (the privilege of being an only child, she says), with a window seat like those in television shows, but the thing that he loves the most is her artwork all over the walls: pastel paintings and charcoal drawings that make it so much more personal than anything he’s seen thus far. 

“Thanks. It’s a lot more space than half a dorm room.”

Smiling, Bellamy looks at the Polaroid photos that are hanging on a long piece of string across the wall above her desk. Clarke joins him, explaining, “The first one is of Wells and I during a high school football game. He’s a childhood friend… These two were taken at the New York Pride parade last year,” she points to the next two photographs, which have frozen her in frame with a happy smile on her face, the bisexuality flag painted on both of her cheeks. “This is my dad.” With that, she takes the next Polaroid down so that Bellamy can see him more closely.

Jake Griffin looks like the kind of man who was everybody’s friend, warm and easy-going with a nice, youthful glint in his blue eyes. _Clarke’s eyes… She looks like her dad,_ he realizes, gazing at her intently as she starts to speak, “This was taken at my fifteenth birthday party, two months before we found out that he was sick.”

Quietly, Bellamy places a comforting hand on her shoulder, giving her the strength to continue explaining the rest of the photos: there’s one of her mom and Marcus holding hands in front of The Coliseum in Rome (he has always wanted to go there… Maybe he will with Clarke someday), another one of her Australian Shepherd named Saphia and the last one is of her dad again, but she’s in this one, too. They are posing back-to-back, holding up their finger guns. ‘ _Partners in crime’_ is written in sharpie in the photo border.

“I think you’ll like my bed,” she says flirtatiously, patting the mattress with her hand. There’s a midnight blue blanket spread over it, making it look royal, and a bunch of throw pillows, including one that’s shaped like a pug. “It has room for two.”

“I’m already a fan.”

As soon as he sits down, Bellamy pulls her closer to put his mouth on hers, and she smiles before deepening it. Kissing him has easily become one of her favorite activities, next to drawing. It makes everything within her surge with excitement; butterflies flutter their wings in her heart. Burying her hand in the dark curls of his hair, she causes him to groan, a sign that he’s getting turned on just before he pulls away.

“I’m not gonna have sex with you when your mom could come home at any moment,” he reasons, but she’s not disappointed, since they have _plenty_ of time to spend in here. She’s just happy that he wanted to be with her during Thanksgiving break.

 

Sometime later while Bellamy and Clarke are unpacking some Thanksgiving essentials that they bought at the grocery store (stuff for s’mores, cranberry sauce, green beans, sweet potatoes…), the sound of a key in the front door lock reveals that Abby’s finally finished her shift. Even though Clarke looks as if she’s about to burst with excitement over introducing him to her, she tells Bellamy to wait in the kitchen while she greets her mom (and possibly Marcus) first.

“Clarke, honey! Oh, it’s so good to see you,” Abigail Griffin exclaims, pulling her daughter in for a hug. “You said you were gonna bring a friend. Bellamy, right? Is he already here?”

Obviously, Bellamy takes that as his cue, emerging from the kitchen to greet her mother. “Bellamy Blake, ma’am,” he smiles, but Clarke’s surprised by his formalities, by his manners… So is her mom, clearly, because she shakes her head. 

“Please, call me Abby… You have art history with Clarke?” 

They’ve just started talking to her about it when Marcus shows up, explaining his long absence with needing to help their elderly neighbor unload her groceries. _Yes, he is a decent dude, no doubt about that,_ Bellamy remarks internally but also understands what Clarke means. He bears no physical resemblance to her dad whatsoever, and he seriously doubts that Marcus Kane has a passion for art. To Bellamy, he seems way too political for that.

Later when they’re peeling sweet potatoes together in preparation for tomorrow’s feast, Bellamy’s thought is confirmed, as Marcus tells him, “I’m in the city council. Democratic.”

_Oh thank fuck._

It makes him a lot more likable. Trying to get a genuine conversation going, Marcus asks him, “So you’re a part of the debate team at NYU?” 

“Yes. That’s where I met Clarke. I’m a history major, and she focuses on the arts, of course, so our paths probably wouldn’t have crossed otherwise. It’s fun, though. I like it a lot. It’s the perfect way to end a week of classes.” 

At that, Marcus chuckles lightly, which has Bellamy puzzled until he says, “That’s funny. Clarke said the exact same thing about it when she was here the last time.”

Well, this further affirms what they’ve discovered in the past month: They’re not really that different after all, and they have a lot of the same quirks. For a moment, Bellamy smiles to himself, but because he doesn’t want to look like some love-struck fool, he decides to tell Marcus more about the debate team. He only gets distracted when Clarke suddenly stands behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her chin to his back. 

“Hey you,” he mutters, surprised by the intimate gesture considering that her mother and stepdad are there to witness it. “What’s up?” 

“You done with the potatoes now?”

Grinning at her cuteness, he turns his head a little. “Are you getting impatient, Princess?”

Watching them, her mother tells him, “It runs in the family,” but he’s kind of preoccupied by the fact that Clarke has snatched his glasses from the front of his sweater to place them on his nose. He smiles fondly, running a hand through the back of his hair before turning to Abby. 

“It does? Now we have an explanation.”

In response, Clarke rolls her eyes playfully before returning to the stuffing at her mom’s request. Because they’re only a maximum of two feet away and therefore nowhere near out of earshot, Bellamy can hear what Abby says to her daughter, ‘ _I thought you said he was just a friend’_ but luckily, it seems as if she’s amused rather than unpleasantly surprised.

“He is,” Clarke does her best to sound convincing, yet her mom only hums in disbelief as if to say ‘ _Yeah right, and I’m the queen of Mars.’_

 

Once they’ve finished preparing for the Thanksgiving dinner, Bellamy and Clarke are sitting on her bed, and before they open Netflix, she decides to tell him which guests to expect seeing: Her four cousins, her mother’s parents, Marcus’ mom and two aunts. Usually, Wells and his father, Thelonius Jaha, are there too, but they’ve decided to celebrate the holiday on Crete this year.

“That’s a lot of people. It was always just the three of us at my house. My mom, Octavia and I… Are you gonna introduce me as your ‘friend?’” 

Clarke raises her eyebrows. “What else am I supposed to say? Maybe, ‘Oh, and by the way everyone, this is my friend Bellamy that I have sex with on the regular. No, that isn’t going to happen.” They both laugh at that, but then he pulls her in for a lingering kiss, one that makes her heart skip a beat. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

With that, she kisses him again, pouring more passion into it and thereby not allowing him to respond. Not wanting to pull away, Bellamy simply pushes her laptop with his foot, banishing it to the end of the bed. Then he pulls the t-shirt ( _his_ t-shirt) over her head, placing kisses to her throat. She sighs once the tip of his tongue darts out, soothing a blooming hickey that he left by her collarbone the other day, smiles at how gentle it is.

Somehow, doing this in her room makes her feel shy, heat rising to her cheeks. “It’s like being in high school again,” she tells him, massaging his scalp with her fingertips. “Bringing a cute guy up to my room without my parents knowing,” grabbing the hem of his sweater, she lets it join her t-shirt on the floor. He really is perfectly sculpted, but he wouldn’t fit a mold, that’s for sure. The universe gained a new star when he was born…

“Did you do that?” There’s a boyish twinkle in his dark eyes as he asks, which warms her heart. In the past month, she’s seen Bellamy smile more than ever, and it would give her infinite happiness to know that she’s a part of the reason for that.

Placing a kiss to the broad, defined line of his shoulder, Clarke admits, “Nah, I had my girlfriend at the time.”

When she looks at him again, he tips her chin gently using two of his fingers, so that he can gaze into her eyes. Every time he does that, it steals her breath, because it seems as if he’s trying to comprehend how she came to be, admiring her like an artistic masterpiece. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs before brushing his thumb along her cupid’s bow and placing a kiss to her cheek. It makes her blush, the butterflies fluttering their wings in her stomach. Shit, it’s been a long time since she felt like this, and maybe she should be freaked out about it, but she isn’t.

“What’s your favorite part about Thanksgiving?” Clarke asks, unhooking her bra. She expects him to say ‘ _the food’_ like most people, but he doesn’t.

“Spending time with the people I care about,” he murmurs against the swell of her breast, placing a chaste kiss to the sensitive skin there. “Which means that this is just how I like it.” 

Even though she’d been able to deduct that Bellamy has begun to care about her (like she has about him), hearing him say it like that — like it’s the most natural thing in the world to him — makes her want to shower him in affection just to be certain that he understands how much she has come to appreciate him. 

“What’s _your_ favorite part?”

Pulling back, she brushes her fingertips across the _storge_ tattoo by his heart. Then she looks at him, glancing at his lips. “This right here…”

For the first time since they started sleeping together, orgasms aren’t the goal. His thrusts are slow, as he isn’t focused on technique or flare. No, his attention is solely on her, kissing every inch of her ivory skin within reach, his hand resting against her cheek when she sighs at the softness. Her hands travel up his spine to map it and leave their prints so that every burden he carries will be met by her affection. She wants to bottle the scent of pine and musk from his skin, wear it wherever she goes… 

“You’re perfect,” she tells him, the tips of their noses grazing.

The words cause his lips to part in wonder. _How on Earth did they get this far?_ No one knows, but it seems as if the order of the universe has been changed, as if it has been turned inside out…

 

* * *

 

When Abby Griffin enters her daughter’s room on Thanksgiving morning, she interrupts a kiss. As chaste and innocent as it is, the two students break apart, both staring at her with widened eyes. For a moment, Abby’s perplexed, but it takes no more than the sight of her daughter wearing a gray hoodie that’s clearly three sizes too big for her to put two and two together.

“Oh sorry, I should’ve knocked. I just wanted to bring you some hot chocolate. It’s a tradition in this household after all.”

They gladly take the cups, even though they’re both still blushing, and Clarke explains to Bellamy that her dad used to make it every year, bring it to her in the morning to show that he was thankful for her. He gave it to Abby too, who has decided to carry on the tradition. To keep his spirit alive...

  

Before the guests arrive, Bellamy volunteers to help Marcus with the preparation of the last things for the dinner, which means that Clarke and Abby can have a private chat. The fond smile easy on her face, Clarke watches him by the counter, prompting her mother to remark, her voice low, “He really puts hearts in your eyes. I understand why, even if he’s _just a friend._ ”

It’s clear from the change in her tone at the last part that Abby’s more skeptical about the status of her daughter’s relationship with Bellamy than she was yesterday. Sighing, Clarke realizes that there’s no point in denying the truth, knowing that her mom can see right through her, especially when it comes to the deeper emotions that she does her best to keep hidden. “We’re not just friends… We’re—“ Jesus, how is she going to explain this in the least awkward way possible? “We’re _intimate_ friends.”

Nope, it’s still awkward… Despite this, Abby nods, revealing that she understands. Then she says something that Clarke would’ve never expected. “That’s how my relationship with your dad started out, too. We were young, fun-loving but our connection grew over time and we became really close. Our souls were like magnets, and… It’s difficult for me to express how much I loved him, but—“ Her voice cracks at that, which almost startles Clarke, because it’s been _years_ since she’s seen her mother cry. “— But I think you understand now. Bellamy seems like an amazing young man, Clarke. Intelligent, caring, and I’ve seen the way you look at him, so please promise me… That if you’re in love with him, you won’t let him slip through your fingers. Be thankful for him.”

With that, her mother leaves, blinking the tears in her eyes away and telling Bellamy to take a break. Grinning at her boyishly, Bellamy joins Clarke on the couch, turning to brush a strand of hair from her face.

“I’m glad you wanted to be here, even though you don’t know any of the guests. My cousins can be quite _interesting._ ”

Bellamy only shrugs, motioning for her to sit in his lap, which is an invitation she can’t resist. It’s so comfortable, and she leans back against his chest, her eyelids fluttering shut as he buries his head in the crook of her neck. _Intimate. Intimate friends._ That’s what they are, because it’s the only label that she dares to apply to their relationship right now.

Still, when the guests arrive an hour or two later, Clarke leaves out the _intimate_ part of the label when she introduces him to them. This, however, doesn’t prevent Abby from not so quietly raving about him to one of the aunts. “My goodness, Edna. This boy was introduced to us yesterday and he’s done such amazing work in the kitchen! He insisted on helping with every part of the meal. I can’t believe that Clarke hasn’t told me about him before.”

Clarke blushes, prompting Bellamy to smile at her. _Well, nobody would believe that we hated each other two months ago._

The Thanksgiving dinner is delicious, even more so than usual (Clarke gives Bellamy the credit, of course…) and the atmosphere around the table is surprisingly relaxed. No one has mentioned politics or education yet, which is a huge relief, and Clarke ceases the opportunity to squeeze Bellamy’s knee under the table, smirking a little. The discreet touch catches his attention until Clarke’s younger cousin, Sarah, shakes him out of it by asking a question, “What’s your major, Bellamy?”

“History… I might be a nerd, but I’m proud of it.”

“Might be? You definitely _are._ It’s cute though. I heard that some girls like it,” Clarke chimes in, which has Sarah nodding in response, smiling as her eyelids flutter, and this reaction says it all. _Oh my god._

After finishing the meal, Clarke’s in the kitchen doing the dishes with Marcus, trying to convince herself that her cousin doesn’t have the hots for Bellamy, but he is terribly attractive, engaging and _single_. Completely irresistible… _Fuck._  

Suddenly feeling paranoid, she scrubs aggressively at a pan, causing Marcus to stare at her. “Are you okay?" 

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

Well, she’s being ridiculous. Even if her cousin _were_ interested, Bellamy wouldn’t share those feelings, would he? _Nah, he wouldn’t._ In the end, it’s her conviction of his good nature that calms her frantic mind, yet when she returns to him on the couch after completing the dreadful task of doing Thanksgiving dishes, Bellamy gives her a look. Then he bites his lower lip as if to keep from laughing.

“Your cousin just made a very big deal out of being eighteen.” 

 _Jesus Christ._ She was right, and it has blood rushing to her cheeks in secondhand embarrassment as she battles the strong urge to facepalm. “What did you tell her?” 

This question must make him realize that she was worried about it before, because his grin turns smug, his eyes remaining soft when he turns to her. Reassuringly, he holds her gaze, brushing his hand down her cheek. “That I’m not interested… I already have someone.”

“You do?” Clarke teases, her chest sparking with confidence once more.

“Yeah, she’s kind of a princess, though.”

As soon as those words him left his lips, she pushes him playfully, not knowing that a harmless war will commence because of it. Bellamy uses dirty tricks, tickling her until she lies down, holding both of his hands to keep them away. “Not fair,” she breathes, sensing his face move closer to hers, but before he can kiss her right there while a lot of the guests have their curious heads turned in their direction, Clarke moves away, standing to reach out her hand. “There’s something I want to show you. Come on…”

The rooftop was her favorite place until she had to leave home. Leading the way, Clarke tells him, “I have lost count of how many hours I’ve spent here. It was always an amazing place to draw,” smiling at him, she traces _Andromeda_ and _Aquila_ with her fingertip before placing her hand on top of his. 

“I don’t doubt it.”

For a while after that, they sit side-by-side, immersed in the world’s most comfortable silence as the chilly breeze brushes past their faces. Looking at the night sky is so mesmerizing to Clarke, as it makes her think of the universe and how it’s constantly expanding to accommodate more mysteries. More galaxies, more burning stars.

She closes her eyes, inhaling the night air. When a smile tugs the corners of her mouth upward, she senses Bellamy’s gaze on her, but this time it takes her a short minute to meet it. Turning her head, she’s struck by the awe that softens his eyes, and without questioning it, without hesitating, Clarke leans forward and kisses him.

His lips are warm against hers, familiar, as by now she knows the feel of them. Nevertheless, she can still be surprised by how amazing the sensation is. It’s truly life affirming and she wishes it would never end… Though inevitably, it does, but Clarke presses her fingertips to the freckles across his cheeks, making sure that their foreheads stay together.

“Your hands are cold,” he remarks before placing his palm on hers, which nearly has her gasping as the warmth from his skin seeps into hers. “Maybe we should go inside.”

… _Or maybe we should kiss some more,_ is what Clarke thinks, although she eventually agrees to his suggestion, letting him lead her back into the house. There, everyone is starting to gather around the table again to have cups of hot chocolate and large pieces of pumpkin pie. Despite the fact that all of the guests are watching because of their late entrance, Bellamy can’t resist placing a kiss to her cheek before he pulls out the chair for her.

“Gentlemen are rare these days, Clarke,” Aunt Edna remarks at his gallantry, winking knowingly at her. “How long have you been going out?” That question is a surprise, even though her aunt has always _loved_ gossip, her favorite phrase being ‘ _spill the beans’._

“Oh, we’re not— Um… It’s hard to explain,” while she struggles to form a response that doesn’t make her sound like a complete idiot, Clarke glances hopelessly at Bellamy, who doesn’t seem to know how to answer either.

But Edna won’t budge. “Come on, humor me.”

That’s when Abby Griffin arrives from the kitchen to rescue them. “Please, Edna. Let the young people be and eat your pie while it’s still warm.”

After they’ve finished dessert, everyone says what they’re thankful for, and this year Clarke actually has an original answer… _Change._ Of course, that earns her a soft look from Bellamy before he leans in to whisper in her ear, “I’m thankful that I’ll able to give you a _second_ dessert tonight,” and if it wasn’t for his cuteness and her desire for some good sex, Clarke would’ve cringed at his horrible attempt at making an innuendo.

Later when all of the guests have finally left and they’re in her bed again, Clarke couldn’t care less about the cheesy innuendo. Frankly, she’s too busy clutching at the sheets and biting her lower lip to keep from crying out. Raising herself off the pillow, she has a full-on view of Bellamy’s head between her legs, and it hits her that she could get off on that alone. This sight will reemerge in all of her fantasies now, she’s sure of it, because…

“Fuck, Bellamy…”

He sucks at her clit before placing kisses to her inner thigh, and she just about kicks at him for leaving her hanging, but then his lips trail up her stomach as he slips two fingers inside her instead. This time, she can’t hold it back, gasping and arching a little off the mattress, but luckily he puts his mouth on hers to keep her quiet. Tasting herself on his tongue sends her mind into wonderful frenzy. 

It reminds her of the first time he got her off by letting her taste her own arousal. Now that it’s happening again, it’s come full circle. “Bellamy, I’m gonna—“ She pulls a little at the plain silver chain around his neck, releasing a moan into his mouth before he decides to settle between her legs again, so that he can push her off the edge with his tongue. After she’s come apart with a broken moan, it takes her several minutes to wind down. 

“You’re so sexy,” he murmurs gruffly against her breast, but the words end in a satisfied groan when Clarke starts to pull his boxers off, releasing his painful erection. Still struggling to catch her breath, she buries her hand in the messy curls of his hair, tugging slightly at it until he’s inside of her.

Holding back a moan, Clarke whimpers, exhaling, “Oh, I needed this. I needed you so badly.” 

But that’s when Bellamy starts to pull out, wide-eyed. _Shit._ “Fuck, we should use a condom,” but Clarke reassures him that they do not have to. After all, they both tested negative for STD’s last week and she’s on the pill. It seems to effectively calm him down, because he pushes into her again and kisses her with renewed passion. 

“You feel so good,” is what he breathes into her mouth, making her blush a little in the darkness of her bedroom, because it’s definitely safe to say that she’s not been this wet in a very long time, and Bellamy’s feeling smug from knowing that his tongue did all of it. Placing kisses of fire down her throat, Bellamy lifts her right leg off the mattress, hiking it under his arm, which allows him to thrust much deeper. Reading the sudden pleasure that shines through her facial expression, he quickly kisses her to muffle the sound of her moaning. She clings to his broad shoulders, the sounds falling off her lips at the movements of his hips. “God, Bell—“

“Am I hitting a good spot, Princess?” Bellamy mutters against her lips, and she nods frantically in response.

“I’m gonna come again,” she realizes a couple of minutes later, licking her lower lip in anticipation, and despite his surpriset at her words, Bellamy manages to move his hand between them to tease her clit until she is pushed off the edge for a second time. Afterwards, she trembles a little, most likely from battling to stay silent, so he gently massages her thighs and places chaste kisses to her breasts, waiting for her breathing to even out. Once it has, Bellamy finally lets himself go, amazed at how different it is without the protection of the rubber.

That feeling is something Clarke must have felt, too, because the first thing she whispers to him when they’re lying next to each other is, “We can ditch them if you want to… The condoms.”

Still, Bellamy isn’t sure. “Birth control pills are known to fail easily, Clarke. Yes, it feels good to do it without, I’m not gonna lie about that, but I don’t want to risk anything.”

At that, she sighs a little, giving him a lingering kiss. “Then I’ll get an IUD. They’re 99% safe,” but at first he only raises his eyebrows as if he’s surprised that she would change her method of birth control, maybe because it’s a dead giveaway that she wants to continue having sex with him. Not only that, but having sex with him like _this._

That shows just how much she trusts him, but he can’t help asking, “You’ll really do that?” In response, she only kisses him again, savoring the lasting taste of her arousal at the tip of his tongue.

This is the best Thanksgiving she’s had since her dad passed away...

 

* * *

 

After returning to NYU, Clarke finally plucks up the courage to tell Raven about her and Bellamy, but all of the preparation for that admission proves to be unnecessary, as her best friend states, “I’ve known for weeks, Griffin. I noticed that you and Blake stopped arguing during the debate meetings, and then you started to be absent during the weekends, which would’ve been perfectly unsuspicious if Miller hadn’t told me that Bellamy had been gone, too.”

The fact that Raven has known all of this time is a minor shock. Of course, Clarke’s aware that her best friend is a genius, but she thought her and Bellamy were being discreet. As it turns out, they weren’t discreet enough to fool Raven Reyes. Luckily, she appears to be rather amused by the whole thing, and Clarke can imagine that she’s spent a long time talking to Miller about it.

“So… Is it just sex?” Is the first question she asks, which happens to be the most difficult one for her to answer. Going into this relationship, she’d promised herself that it wouldn’t be more than that, but now… That promise is shot to Hell. 

“Well, no. I introduced him to my family and my mom clearly loved him,” upon saying that, she smiles a little at the memory of Bellamy in the kitchen, chatting to her mom about cooking. Lexa wasn’t much of a talker, and when she did manage to hold up a conversation, it was with Marcus about politics. On the contrary, Bellamy seems to have a lot in common with both of them.

It makes her so happy. 

“But do _you_ love him? It matters,” Raven says, causing Clarke to worry her lower lip. Damn, it’s way too early to ask her about that, even though she feels the butterflies return to her stomach every time she thinks about their kiss on the roof. 

“I don’t know yet. We’re taking our time.”

“Oh, you sure as hell are. You’re not even calling it a relationship although you’ve probably already been on fifty dates or something.”

Okay, Clarke knows that they’ve been out together a lot, but she’s certain that it hasn’t been fifty times — at least not yet. Also, she would still hesitate to call it _dating,_ since they haven’t referred to it in those terms before. It was never important what it exactly was they were doing, as long as they were together, but now Raven’s words have caused a knot to form in her belly.

 _Does Bellamy even want to date her?_ As far as she knows, Bellamy hasn’t been in a serious romantic relationship before, so maybe he doesn’t want one. Maybe they really can’t be anything but _intimate friends,_ because he isn’t looking for romance… Not that she can blame him, of course, because she didn’t want that either to begin with, but now she’s not so sure anymore… 

“I’m nauseous,” she thinks out loud, which has Raven placing a hand on her back, and she obviously can’t resist teasing.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?”

At that comment, Clarke shoots her a dispassionate glare, burying her head in her hands. “No, of course not. I just don’t want to deal with the whole _dating_ thing. I’m not ready.”

As far as she’s concerned, the only thing that matters right now is that spending time with Bellamy makes her happy, because their relationship has improved. She has seen him in a different light, and now she never wants to go back… 

 

When night falls, Bellamy and Clarke go to a bar with their friends and announce that their rivalry has officially come to an end while they’re knocking back shots. Still, it surprises no one, earning nothing more than laughter from the group. _Huh? Had they all guessed?_ After the fourth round of shots, their friends leave them alone by the bar counter, heading towards the dance floor. Another thing that Bellamy and Clarke have in common is that they don’t care that much for dancing, so instead they go outside to share a cigarette.

But after taking the second drag of smoke and passing the cigarette back to Bellamy, Clarke becomes slightly dizzy and has to turn her head skyward to regain control of her swaying body. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, his brow furrowing in worry as he places a hand on her shoulder to help steady her.

“Yeah,” she assures him, brushing her hand across her forehead. “I’m just feeling a bit queasy, that’s all.”

Frowning, Bellamy stubs out the cigarette and steps in front of her to cradle her face in his hands. Delicately, he brushes his thumb across her cheekbone, holding her gaze. Because of the narrow space between them, Clarke feels his warm breath ghost over her skin, sees his Adam’s apple bob in worry as he swallows the lump in his throat. “Are you…?”

Even though he can’t finish the question, she knows what he wants to ask. To ease his nerves, she shakes her head, fluttering her eyelids at how softly he’s touching her. “I’m not late or anything, Bellamy. I just can’t smoke right now. Sometimes when I drink and smoke during the same night, my body gets grossed out.” 

He releases a sigh of relief and a small smile starts to tug at the corners of his mouth. “Tell me if you start to feel worse. Then I’ll take you home in a heartbeat, okay?”

Without permission, her mind drifts, then settles at the thought of _this is how a boyfriend acts._ In attempt to distract herself from wondering about it too much, Clarke brings his face down to hers standing on her tiptoes to kiss him. It lasts a few seconds, Bellamy nibbling at her lower lip playfully until he pulls away, resting his forehead against hers.

“You want kids someday?”

Fuck, that question is so soft that it melts her heart. Because of this, it takes her a couple of seconds to reply. “Yeah, someday.”

“Me too,” he smiles fondly at her before placing a lingering kiss to her jawline. In this moment, it is a goddamn mystery to her that she ever disliked this man — this wonderful, intelligent, adorable man. Possibly sensing her longing for a hug, Bellamy wraps his arms around her, pulling her into his chest, and they stand still like that for a few minutes until Miller manages to pull them both back into the bar.

It only seems logical, now that the Blake/Griffin rivalry has ended, that the two debate team members join forces to form a co-presidency of the group instead of competing against each other. When they make this announcement at the next meeting, everyone except Raven and Miller is confused, but there’s no need for a proper explanation. All that Bellamy has to do is interlace his fingers with Clarke’s, and every question that might’ve been on people’s minds seems to fade away,

“Co-presidents of the debate team. I like the sound of that,” Clarke admits before jumping onto his back because she’s too lazy to trail after him across campus. “Where are we headed?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Despite the lightness of his words, Clarke senses some worry cling to them. Hopefully, he’s okay, but she doesn’t want to make him feel uneasy, so she places a kiss the to his neck and runs her fingertips through the back of his hair. 

They take the subway to downtown Brooklyn, then a cab to an old apartment complex in a shady-looking neighborhood. Even though she already has it figured out, he tells her, “This is where I grew up… Where I still live when I’m not at campus,” after saying that, Bellamy turns his gaze towards his feet, giving away that he’s ashamed. _Why? Because he grew up here?_ As if it makes her feel any less of him.

The apartment looks worn, even though the walls are freshly painted white. This place seems to have given up, and Bellamy reveals why once she’s sat down beside him on the old leather couch. “It has never quite been the same since my mom died.” 

It’s been a long time since Clarke realized that Bellamy’s mother, Aurora, is dead, because he always talks about her in the past tense. When he falls into silence, it starts to dawn on her why he brought her here, so she gently brushes a dark curl from his eyes. “Can I tell you how it happened?” 

She nods, watching him swallow the heavy lump in his throat. She’s never tried to pressure him to talk about his mom’s death, but she’s relieved that he trusts her enough to do so.

“For a long time, it was just my mom and I,” he explains, taking her hand. “She was working two shitty-paying jobs just to keep us afloat, but then she met this man and got pregnant with Octavia. He left her as soon as he found out, and the weight on my mother’s shoulders became almost unbearable, having to raise two kids and maintain a living all on her own. It was tough on her, she—“ Suddenly, he has to take a breath to calm himself down, but his jaw still clenches. “She’d been addicted to drugs in her youth, but she was smart enough to understand that she couldn’t afford it. So she turned to cheap liquor instead.”

Trying to ease the tension from his body, Clarke rubs at his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his cheek, causing him to look at her. That’s when she notices the tears in his eyes. “It went on for years like that. She couldn’t get any help, afraid that CPS would take Octavia and I away from her, so she’d drink whenever she had something at hand and I’d lock myself in my room with my sister and tell her stories to keep her from annoying Mom. She wasn’t ever _violent_ with us… but her temper changed.”

As the first tear rolls down his cheek, Clarke catches it with her thumb, waiting patiently while he takes a slow breath. It takes no detective to figure out that he’s leaving out a lot of painful memories that she’ll never be able to imagine. “One day when she wasn’t working, she had a couple drinks and got behind the wheel, probably to pick something up at the store. It was only a few blocks away, so I guess she figured that she could drive there, but she hadn’t gotten very far before she hit another car.”

He’s shaking now, the tears streaming down his cheeks like a waterfall, but he smiles incredulously, as if his mind still struggles to comprehend how all of it happened. “I was in high school, doing calculus. I thought that my day couldn’t possibly get any worse… Then the police called to tell me about the accident. They needed me at the scene to identify her body. I was seventeen years old, I didn’t—I didn’t want to, but I was the oldest next of kin.”

 _Oh god…_ Without saying anything, Clarke pulls his head to her chest as he starts to sob, places kisses into his hair and tries her best to chase the pain off his spine by rubbing his back a little. Witnessing her dad in a hospital bed was bed enough. She honestly can’t imagine having to identify him after he was pulled him from a car wreck. “You’re okay,” is what she tells him when he pulls back, wiping the remaining tears off his cheeks with the back of his sleeve.

“She was a great mom, but she was in so much pain and I was too young to understand. I was too young to help her.” 

“Bellamy,” uttering his name, Clarke takes a hold of his shoulders. “You were a good son, because you loved her. You took care of Octavia through everything. You’re a good man,” before he can respond, she hugs him again. The amount of strength that it must’ve taken for him to open up about this is so overwhelming that it nearly causes her heart to crack open, to spill all kinds of truths that she didn’t know were hidden in there.

  * _I admire you_
  * _… I love you_



Taking his face in her hands, Clarke kisses him passionately, feeling the wet stars across his cheeks. It makes her think about what her mother told her on Thanksgiving, about not letting him slip through her fingers, but this doesn’t feel like the right moment to make a romantic admission, so she keeps it locked inside her chest.

“I’m happy I told you. I don’t talk about it as much as I should.”

“I’m glad you told me, too.”

_There’s nothing quite as important as trust…_

* * *

 

Opening up to each other about their losses bring Bellamy and Clarke much closer, so she begins to invite him home on the weekends when she leaves campus. Still, her mom plays a huge part in that, too, as she always urges her daughter to bring him. This time, when he shows up at their front door alone after dropping Miller off at the airport (Monty and him are spending the last two weeks of December in Paris together), he has brought a bouquet of flowers for Abby.

“Oh, Bellamy,” she exclaims, admiring them: _Baby’s Breath, lavender and peonies_ — _Someone’s keen to impress._ “They’re beautiful, thank you so much.”

As if he’d been called, Marcus shows up with a glass vase for Abby to put them in. Smiling, Bellamy steps towards Clarke before pulling a small box of chocolates out of his pocket. “I would’ve gotten flowers for you, too, but everyone knows that you prefer chocolate,” then he kisses her cheek, and she wraps her arms happily around his neck in a hug.

“That’s true,” Marcus remarks, a teasing glint in his eye as he looks at them. “She can’t keep flowers alive to save her own life… You know her well.”

At the last comment, Bellamy blushes, the brown skin of his cheeks turning a subtle shade of pink. _Oh, you have no idea how well I know her._ As opposed to saying anything, he simply nods before turning his attention back to Clarke, who’s beaming like the sun at the sight of him. “You’re that happy to see me, huh?” He raises an eyebrow, half expecting her to punch his shoulder and ironically call him an idiot, because well, he kind of feels like one, showing up at her front door with flowers and chocolate. Like a _boyfriend…_

To his surprise, she only replies, “Of course. I’ve missed you.”

“Clarke, it’s been three days.” 

“Three days is like… a _year._ ”

Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke sees Abby motion for Marcus to desert the entry hall with her, leaving the two alone. Wasting no time, she buries her hand in his hair and pulls his head down for a kiss. His arms fit perfectly around her waist, pulling her closer. “I can’t believe you’re really spending Christmas break with me.” 

As it turns out, his little sister Octavia exchanged gifts with him yesterday, because she’s planning to spend Christmas with her boyfriend, Lincoln, this year, and although Bellamy was a little bummed out by that, Abby Griffin quickly stepped in to invite him. At first, he’d tried to politely decline the invitation, not wanting to be any trouble around this busy time of the year, but Abby assured him that she would love if he could be there. More than anything, she’d hate for a man that her daughter cares so deeply about to be alone on Christmas. 

“I can’t believe it either.”

Locking an arm around her waist, Bellamy follows her into the kitchen, where they are greeted by two smiling faces. “Did you have any Christmas traditions growing up, Bellamy?” Abby asks, drizzling flour over the table.

Knowing what she’s aiming for, he grins, admitting, “I used to bake sugar cookies and make hot chocolate with my sister. When she was little, she’d eat half of the icing before the cookies were out of the oven.”

After taking it from the refrigerator, Abby hands the butter to Bellamy. “Join us.”

While he was alive, it was Jake Griffin who stood for the baking in their household around Christmas time, since he was better at it than his wife. Clarke remembers being a young girl and waking up to the sweet scent of gingerbread cookies in the morning. Sometimes, he’d sneak her one after breakfast that she could eat on her way to school. 

For the past two years, Abby has tried to revive the tradition, but it wasn’t exactly a success the last time. Now, they’re trying again with Bellamy as a new team member. It’s very cozy, as they all hum to the festive tunes on the radio while waiting for the cookies to finish their time in the oven. “What are you gonna do, Clarke?” Bellamy asks, drawing invisible patterns on her knee with his fingertips while she’s sitting on the counter. 

“A Christmas tree.”

“Very original,” he teases, grinning.

“What are you gonna do then?”

“A heart,” when he’s said that, he winks at her, and she tries not to blush too much. Frankly, she tries to mask her reaction by calling his choice of cookie shape _‘cheesy’_ , but in reality she kind of loves it. 

Perhaps because of the fact that she’s an artist, Clarke’s Christmas tree cookie turns out beautifully detailed, with different colored bulbs and strings of beads, even a star at the top. Meanwhile, Bellamy’s heart is sloppy, the piping-work not quite as clean, but when he waves it in front of her face in pride, it’s tempting, its sweet scent making her mouth water, so she takes a bite. 

“There’s that sweet tooth again, Princess,” Bellamy says as she wipes a little bit of icing off the corner of her mouth, but she only smiles at him. 

“Cute,” is the remark from Marcus, who winks. While her mother has been somewhat good at being subtle, the same thing doesn’t apply to her boyfriend, but Clarke shrugs it off, placing the cookies that she’s decorated into a tin, so they can eat them throughout the next few days.

 

They watch ‘ _Home Alone’_ while cuddling on the couch, and afterwards Clarke all but pulls him up the stairs to her room, shutting and locking the door. Finally, they’re alone…

Without shame, Bellamy lets his eyes trail down her body, lingering on the low-cut blue top that she bought when they were shopping together. “You’re wearing it,” he remarks, biting his lower lip as he reaches his hands out to toy with the fabric a little. “You look fucking amazing.” 

At the compliment, the glint in Clarke’s eyes turns seductive. Then she steps towards him, placing her hand on his chest. “Like this? You should see what’s underneath it.” For obvious reasons, those words cause his jaw to slack slightly, his eyes closing as he chokes back a groan. Before he can take the shirt off her, however, Clarke pushes him back onto the bed using one hand, then pulls the material over her head, revealing a new bra. 

It’s black like the one she’d been wearing the first time he was in her dorm, but this one is even sexier, as it exposes more bare skin through the lace details. Smiling dazedly as Clarke pulls her hair out of its braid, Bellamy leans back on his arms, taking in the view. _Fuck, she’s gorgeous._ Aware of the effect that she’s having on him, Clarke smirks while crawling over his body, only stopping for a moment to brush her hand over his crotch.

“I got myself off for the first time in forever yesterday.”

He hums in satisfaction. “What did you think about?” Of course _he’s_ curious to know.

“What I’d do for you once you got here.” 

Then she kisses him, breathing hotly against his lips while her finger works at the zipper of his pants, and Bellamy leans his head back, exposing his neck, so that she can suck at his pulse point. Burying his hand in the golden waves of her hair, Bellamy groans low in his throat as she pulls his belt out of the hoops and slides his pants down past his knees. Before his mind goes numb from watching her take control like this, he takes his shirt off, throwing it to the side. She clearly appreciates this, because her lips travel down his chest, reacquainting themselves with the hard lines of his abs. When her mouth reaches the band of his boxers, she hears him suck in a breath and starts to pull them off.

The last time she blew him was on the day of their fight, which is something that none of them like to think about now, but by doing it again here, she can create a different memory around it, a positive one. 

“Is this okay?”

“Yes— _Fuck…_ ” Poor Bellamy. He tries his best to stay silent, but the minute she puts her mouth on him, it’s hard for him to control the sounds that emerge from his lips. Desperately, he clutches at the sheets, his knuckles turning white, and bites his lower lip. Just to admire how hot that is, Clarke raises her eyes to witness it. Curious to see his reaction, she lets her tongue join the action, causing pleasure to jolt through him without warning and his hips jerk forward. 

_Awesome._

Knowing this weakness means that it doesn’t take her long to bring him to the edge, yet to her surprise, Bellamy utters, “Clarke, stop… I want this to last.” Despite her desire to finish the job, she does what he asks, taking her mouth off him. Then she slips up his body to look at his dazed facial expression. He smiles at her lazily, running his fingertips through her hair. “God, you’re amazing. So fucking amazing.” 

Although she wants to kiss him, she knows that some men are iffy about girls kissing them after a blowjob. However, Bellamy proves himself to be better than them by pulling her head down to his so that he can kiss her deeply. Once they’ve broken apart, he tells her, “Take off your jeans.”

She’s wet, and he knows. Not only that, but he’s _proud_ of it, which is clear when he gently pushes her down to lie on her back, so he can feel her through her panties. “ _Shit,_ ” he curses under his breath, brushing the pad of his thumb over her clit through the fabric. Despite how she whimpers in pleasure at that, Clarke assures him, “Bellamy, you don’t have to go down on me. You don’t have to give me anything in return.” 

“Oh, Princess. I’m not planning to go down on you… yet.”

Instead, he pulls her panties down her legs and shamelessly slips a finger inside her to be sure that she’s ready. Humming in pleasure, Clarke lets her eyelids flutter shut, spreading her thighs further, so that he can settle between them, and her breath hitches when he pushes into her. Since she got her IUD at the beginning of this month, the box of condoms in their bedside table drawers have been abandoned, left to collect dust.

“ _Oh.._.”

He reminds her to be quiet, kissing her softly as his fingertips tangle in her hair. Sucking on that sensitive spot below her jawline, Bellamy thrusts deeper, knowing that he won’t last long, but he plans to make it special nonetheless, the movements of his hips steady yet not rushed or hard; a fine line between fucking and lovemaking — just the way she likes it.

Remembering how much she enjoyed it the last time he was here, Bellamy hikes her leg up higher on his back, as far as she can possibly be stretched, to hit that spot within her that makes stars form behind her eyelids. Within a few minutes, she’s panting his name like a mantra as she falls off the edge, and he follows immediately, groaning against her collarbone.

“I don’t have to come every time, you know,” she chuckles, pushing at his chest to get him to lie down beside her, because he’s heavier than he looks. It must be all of that muscle… 

“You know I’m ambitious. And I deliver.”

Pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, Clarke muses, “That you sure do.”

  

An hour later, following their obligatory cuddling-session under the covers in her bed, Bellamy and Clarke walk back down the stairs, their fingers interlaced… The least they can do is help with the cooking, since they’ve been gone for so long, but Abby takes one look at the flushed skin of their cheeks and ruffled clothes before telling them to relax. 

“My mom wasn’t at all surprised when I told her about the IUD last week,” Clarke whispers in his ear, nudging her foot against his. “In fact, she told me that she’s happy we’re being safe.” 

Being a doctor, Abby Griffin gave her daughter the entire _teenage pregnancy_ talk as soon as she got her period at the age of thirteen. Then Clarke fell in love with a woman, and for two years the possibility of pregnancy was nonexistent, but now… it’s very much there. While involving your parents in your sex life can be awkward, Clarke actually feels more secure knowing that her mom knows. In case anything should happen. 

“Cool. I’m happy about that, too,” Bellamy grins, a playful glint in his eye. 

Still, there’s one thing that she’s not sure she should tell him about. When she told her mother about changing her method of contraception (to something as permanent as an IUD), Abby had asked if that meant that she and Bellamy were actually _together_ now.

When Clarke’s debating, she’s fearless, spitting out one argument after another using cold hard facts, and by now she has grown so used to it that nerves aren’t ever an issue for her. Therefore, it seems ridiculous that when it comes to something as simple as asking Bellamy about the status of their relationship, her heart pounds against her ribcage and her palms become sweaty. _Jesus,_ it’s not that difficult. She knows it isn’t, and yet… the words won’t emerge; they don’t make sense, have cluttered together in her throat to form a lump that is impossible to swallow.

Knowing that it always calms her down, Clarke initiates more cuddling, putting her head on his shoulder and running her thumb over his bicep, but it only prompts him to ask, “Are you okay, Clarke?”

 _No. My heart is on my sleeve,_ she thinks, _and I can’t control it._ Worrying her lower lip for a moment, she plucks up enough courage to tell him to follow her to the rooftop… Up there, it’s freezing, the icy December air creating crystals on the freezing tiles. As they huddle together to preserve warmth, their breaths form small clouds of smoke. Without hesitating, Bellamy interlaces their fingers, caressing her knuckles with his thumb. “What’s going on?” 

Of course he’s worried. She doesn’t usually act like this. Bracing herself, Clarke squeezes her eyes shut, struggling to find the right words to start. In the end, she settles on a question. “Why did you break it off with Roma after you’d been at my dorm?” 

He blinks, not having expected that. Then he inhales, filling his lungs with coldness. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” is what he admits, glancing at her. “And not just in a physical way. Even though I might not always have liked you, Clarke, I— I found you intriguing. I thought you were intelligent, confident and determined. That night with you, that hour, it made me think so much that I was certain my head was going to explode, and while I still didn’t like you, my brain kept telling me that I would eventually, if I did my part of the job to change our relationship, to work on it.” 

Smiling, Clarke feels her heart soften in her chest as she gives his hand a squeeze. “Well, we did work on it. Both of us… Together.”

At that last word, Bellamy leans in to kiss her cheek. When he pulls back, there are a million stars in his dark eyes, which are crinkling at the corners. “Yeah. Look at what became of that, huh,” he murmurs, and for a beat, Clarke is sure that she’s going to get lost in his gaze, but she doesn’t.

Instead, she tells him, “I’m in love with you,” the words emerging as simply as a breath. While her heart leaps in her chest, folding and unfolding, she doesn’t care. It doesn’t make her nauseous — No, it’s liberating. Like she just won a war that she thought was going to be endless.

Staring at her in awe, Bellamy’s eyes fill with tears, happy ones this time. She has struck him completely speechless for the first time in three years, and all that he can do is capture her lips with his own in a kiss that speaks a thousand words. It takes her breath away, makes her forget how cold it is around them, because frankly, she wouldn’t care if they were frozen in that moment.

 _Is she the first person who has ever told him something like this?_ It sure seems like it, since when he pulls away at last, forced to draw a breath, a single tear has been released from his eyes, free to run down his freckled cheek. As he tries to speak, his voice cracks under the weight of emotion, but he manages to say it nonetheless, “I’m in love with you, too, Clarke.”

 **The universe is one big mystery after all.** There is an era, in which the stars do not always tell the truth, in which Bellamy Blake loves Clarke Griffin, and Clarke Griffin loves Bellamy Blake.

And the evidence points towards the it being this era right here… The order of the universe was changed on a Manhattan rooftop; the stars formed different alignments until everything added up, and it made sense that these two people from different worlds would fall in love.

 

When they are back inside the house, they are hit by the scent of Christmas, which can be boiled down to: pine, hot chocolate, cookies and nutmeg. In the kitchen, Abby and Marcus are chatting, having finished preparing today’s dinner of lasagna, but they immediately turn their heads to look at Bellamy and Clarke once they come into view. 

Clarke clears her throat a little, “Bellamy and I are dating.”

For some reason, it takes no more than a couple of seconds for Abby and Marcus to process that piece of information, as delight starts to shine through their faces. “Since when?” Of course it’s Marcus who can’t hold the question back, nor can he control his smile.

“Since ten minutes ago.”

“Congratulations!”

The reaction from her mother and stepdad is pretty laid back, which is good. During the dinner, they all agree to put up the Christmas tree in the morning and decorate it together. Afterwards, Bellamy and Clarke send a message to all of their friends on Messenger, announcing their relationship like this: In the caption of an image of her kissing her _boyfriend_ ’ _s_ cheek, Clarke writes: ‘ _Guess, which two idiots™ are dating???’_

The reactions are fucking golden.

 

 **Raven:** GET IT GIRLIE— MAMA’S PROUD AF.

 

 **Nathan:** I called it! Blake, I told you that she was your girlfriend a month ago. Glad you can keep up. But I swear, if I get another ‘naked’ phone call, I’ll sue.

 

 **Clarke:** That call still wasn’t meant for you, though.

 

 **Nathan:** I know. I’m too gay for that.

 

 **Monty:** Yeah, you are babe. Also @Clarke Griffin, can I be the best man at your wedding?

 

 **Bellamy:** Those arrangements haven’t been made yet, Green.

 

 **Raven:** WAIT. HOLD YOUR FUCKING HORSES…’YET’???

 

 **Bellamy:** It’s a joke. (Or is it???)

 

 **Monty:** *softly* or is it?

 

_Bellamy Blake is offline_

_Clarke Griffin is offline_

**Raven:** They gon’ bang.

 

* * *

 

For once, the genius Raven Reyes isn’t right, because although Bellamy and Clarke _do_ go to her room, it’s only because she wants to tell him about an art project that she’s working on for class, which she has to turn in at the very beginning of January.

“It’s a series of art pieces inspired by an intense emotion or atmosphere. It can be hatred, hope, and love… I chose _intimacy._ ” Her reasoning behind that choice was her professor’s advice about her needing to practice human anatomy, and of course, her source of inspiration has been her budding relationship with Bellamy.

Almost unable to keep still because of curiosity, Bellamy peers over her shoulder once Clarke opens her sketchbook to reveal five pastel drawings. Even though you can’t see their faces in any of the pieces, it’s clearly _them._

  * Their entangled, bare legs peeking out from beneath a duvet. The drawing is cut off at their necks, but his hand is reaching up to cup her chin.
  * She is in his _Eagles_ t-shirt, seated behind him on a couch with her arms wrapped around his back in a hug, her cheek resting against his spine.
  * Them sharing a gelato cone in the rain, holding it between their interlaced fingers.
  * Him placing a kiss on her cheek, which pulls at the corners of her mouth.
  * Them on the rooftop, pointing at constellations…



After praising her work for almost five minutes straight, Bellamy raises an eyebrow, grinning in teasing as he asks, “Have you ever considered doing _erotica_?” For some reason, it causes her to blush, heat rushing to her cheeks. Maybe it’s because he’s clearly hinting at modeling for her… _naked._ Clarke licks her lips.

“I _have_ , but I was aiming for a different kind of intimacy with this. The non-sexual kind.” 

Running a hand through the back of his hair, Bellamy remarks, “That’s important, too.” 

The improvement of their relationship in the past three months is proof of that, as non-sexual intimacy has played a huge part in strengthening their bond, the _trust_ between them. By now, their fingers interlace as if they were molded to fit together, their bodies seek warmth by gravitating towards one another, and the cuddling that she shares with Bellamy — even though it makes her feel vulnerable — is cleansing, it’s healing… 

Another form of non-sexual intimacy that they haven’t practiced yet is reading together. After digging his favorite book — Homer’s _Iliad_ — out of his backpack, Bellamy joins her on the bed and starts to read the first passage of words out loud to her, the passion shining through his voice.

_Sing, Goddess, Achilles’ rage,_

_Black and murderous, that cost the Greeks_

_Incalculable pain, pitched countless souls_

_Of heroes into Hades’ dark,_

_And left their bodies to rot as feasts_

_For dogs and birds, as Zeus’ will was done._

_Begin with the clash between Agamemnon—_

_The Greek warlord—and godlike Achilles._

_Which of the immortals set these two_

_At each other’s throats?_

When she kisses the side of his neck, gazing up at him, Bellamy responds by pressing his lips to her forehead. Resting her head on his shoulder, she eventually drifts off to sleep, the sound of his voice curling around the syllables calming like a lullaby in her ears.

 

Waking up the next morning, she realizes that Bellamy must’ve put her to bed, because she’s beneath the duvet, no longer wearing the hot NYU sweatshirt but only the t-shirt underneath it. He’s soundlessly asleep next to her (another perk about dating Bellamy Blake: He doesn’t fucking snore), but because the temptation is too difficult to resist, she scoots closer to him to run her fingertips through the back of his unruly hair. In response, he grunts at first then mumbles, “Morning, babe.”

He’s called her ‘babe’ during sex before, but this time it feels different… Like something a boyfriend would say. It takes Clarke a second to remember that it’s because he is indeed her boyfriend now, and the thought causes immediate happiness to surge through her. Grinning, she kisses her way down his spine, which has him turning around to pull her on top of him, and she just manages to hold back a squeal. 

Putting his mouth on hers, Bellamy lets his hands travel up her legs until they settle by her ass, squeezing it a little underneath the long t-shirt. Just as she expects it to turn sexual, he cups her cheek and promises, “I’ll make it up to you later, but right now, we have a Christmas tree to decorate in the living room.”

  

In Clarke’s house, the tree is always decorated with memories. Every time the family goes on vacation together, they buy a new ornament to represent that experience, so celebrating Christmas is like stepping back in time. Walking around the live tree, there’s _Disney World, London, Barcelona, Rome…_ Bellamy’s fascinated by the stories that Clarke is able to tell from all of those trips, yet somehow it also gnaws a bit at his heart, because he never had anything like that. 

Oh well, he has other memories of times spent with his family, which he holds close to his heart. They have shaped him as a person, there’s no disputing the importance of that. 

“I don’t like using a real tree. I feel bad, so every year I donate some money for organizations that plant trees around the world,” she admits, looking at it, and Bellamy is far from surprised, smiling as he pulls her into his side, admiring the tree with her. The scent of it fills the entire house, making the Christmas spirit come alive. 

“It’s beautiful, though.”

Once he’s said that, his phone buzzes in his pocket, and when he digs it up, he sees that it’s a text from Miller. Grinning, he shows it to Clarke: It’s a selfie of him and Monty by the Eiffel Tower, looking more in love than ever (which is saying something). In response, Bellamy sends Miller a picture of Clarke and him in front of the tree. _Couple’s Christmas…_

They spend most of the night on the couch watching cheesy Holiday movies on Netflix, but when snow starts to fall outside and darkness blackens the sky, they decide to go to Times Square to watch the lights. There, they munch on candy canes and chocolate-covered pretzels, taking in the lovely atmosphere around them. For the first time ever, linking arms with Bellamy, Clarke doesn’t find the square to be busy at all; beauty makes everything calmer, she supposes.

“The only memory I have of my dad is in this place,” Bellamy mumbles suddenly, catching her attention. They stop, and he looks towards a random billboard as taxis rush past them. “My mom only kept one picture of him and I together. She had it in her bedside table drawer, and I wasn’t supposed to know about it, but one day when I was six, I snuck in there to peek because I was curious. I found it: A single image of my dad, captured on 22 December 1995. I couldn’t have been much more than a year old, but I was sitting on his shoulders, and we were both smiling at my mom behind the camera.”

When he sighs, Clarke takes his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze in hope that it will cause him to look at her… it doesn’t. Carefully, she asks, “How much do you know about him?”

Well, it can’t be a lot, considering that Bellamy wasn’t even supposed to know about the existence of the photograph. Meeting her eyes at all, he frowns a little, and she’s hit by a strong urge to wrap him in a hug; still, she only bumps her head against his shoulder, signaling ‘ _I’m here for you’._ “I know that he died shortly after that picture was taken. He was Filipino, and his name was Christopher… I just— The only anger I harbor for my mom today is that she never wanted to talk to me about him. She flat out _refused_ to. Every time.”

She can’t imagine how painful that must’ve been. He must’ve felt as if half of him was missing, because he didn’t remember who his dad was. Despite knowing how tough it undoubtedly is for Bellamy, Clarke has to be honest with him, because she always has been. Their new relationship doesn’t change that. “She loved him, Bellamy. She kept that picture in her bedside table drawer for all of those years. Maybe his death hurt her too much and she _couldn’t_ talk about it.”

Because he nods at that, it’s clear that he’s trying his hardest to understand. Once more, Clarke’s amazed by how _good_ he is. “Still sucks though,” is what he breathes after a beat, glancing at her, which prompts her to place a chaste kiss to his jacket-covered shoulder.

“Yeah, it still sucks.” 

They drink hot chocolate, so they don’t freeze to death, the cold air of New York biting at their cheeks. Then they look through some clothing stores in attempt to finish their Christmas shopping, but instead they end up trying on some ugly sweaters. 

“We should totally buy these,” Bellamy remarks, attempting to hold back laughter as he looks at them in the mirror, wearing hideous Christmas sweaters in the same style, although hers is blue while his is red. 

“Oh yeah…”

“Are we gonna be _that_ couple, though?”

At that, Clarke arches an eyebrow, grinning. “Well, they don’t match entirely, so I think it’s okay. Not too cheesy.”

  

When they come home, Abby and Marcus are preparing dinner and insist that they don’t have to help, so Bellamy leads Clarke by the hand into the living room. In the middle of the wooden floors, wearing fuzzy socks and the ugly sweaters, they sway together to the sound of Coldplay’s _Christmas Lights_ on the television.

“We used to hate each other, can you believe that?” It feels bizarre to even say that now, staring into his soft eyes. 

“To be fair, I don’t think we actually ever _hated_ each other. We were both just stubborn in our dislike for each other.”

At that, her smile turns brighter and she presses her head against his chest, closing her eyes with a happy sigh. If she hadn’t thought of going to him for sex, this would’ve never been possible, because their mutual stubbornness would still have ruled their relationship.

It’s amazing how taking one step in a different direction can change the correlation of everything.

 

The next week until Christmas Eve passes in a festive blur. They have a snowball fight in Central Park, go to see a new art exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art and pick up the last few gifts for their family members. It all seems pretty normal until they’re sitting on her bed, reading The Iliad together, and Clarke discovers something that she thought only existed in movies. 

“Bellamy, the cover’s been cut open and glued back together again.”

At first, he looks at her, utterly puzzled, but then realizes that she’s right: Somebody has slit the inside of the book the open to hide _a letter_ , but not just any letter — a letter addressed to him. Turning it in his hands, Bellamy gulps. “This is my mother’s handwriting.” 

For a minute, Clarke watches him, placing her hand above his when it begins to tremble. It’s clear that although he wants to open the envelope, he’s nervous to find out what it’s about. When he gathers enough courage to pull the letter out, he has to swallow hard and squeeze his eyes shut before he reads out loud.

_My beloved son, my darling boy,_

_Forgive me for writing when I should be talking. Forgive me for not giving you the answers that you deserve earlier, but I can’t talk about it. I can’t talk about him. Still, you should know the truth, and I can only hope that one day, you’ll find this letter in your favorite childhood book and you’ll understand. You’ll know…_

_Your dad, Christopher Thomas Blake, was the love of my life. I met him in the fall of ’92 by chance, because he wasn’t from the working class. He was a law student at NYU, charismatic, charming and so incredibly good-hearted. That’s a trait I’m happy you inherited from him. A year after we started dating, I fell unexpectedly pregnant with you, and your dad dropped everything to own up to the responsibility. He gathered the money he had to buy us a small house in the suburbs, and we moved in there together to start a new chapter. I was so happy. I was in love, and really, it was all too good to be true. On February 4 th 1995, he was fixing a leak in the roof when he fell off the ladder and cracked his skull open._

Bellamy pauses, breathing raggedly, and Clarke takes a hold of his arm. “I’m here,” she reminds him, nuzzling his cheek, which seems to give him the needed strength to continue despite the tears that are present in his voice.

_I called an ambulance to pick him up and followed them to the hospital in my car with you screaming bloody murder in the backseat as if you knew what was going on. It was like a movie, or a nightmare. When we arrived, he was no longer conscious, he was in a coma, and the doctors told me that he had sustained traumatic brain injury and that there was a slim chance he would ever wake up._

_Despite the gloomy prospects and the medical bills, I kept him alive for as long as I could, Bellamy. He was on life support for more than a month before I decided that he wasn’t coming back to us. It was time to let him go. I had no choice._

When the first sob escapes him, Clarke wraps him in an embrace, hoping that he’s willing to let every bit of pain out. She can’t imagine how much reading that, hearing his mother’s voice in his head and envisioning his dad in a hospital bed, must devastate him. Drying the tears off his freckled cheek, Clarke presses a kiss to it, caressing his temple as he goes on.

_He was taken away in such a cruel, unfair way. He was only twenty-four when he died, had his entire life in front of him, and for years, I couldn’t comprehend how it had happened or why. It would be a gross exaggeration to say that the years have made me wiser, because all I know is that I’ll never love any man as much as I loved him._

_I hope you find a person like that someday, my boy. I love you and I want that for you. I hope you’ll be able to forgive me._

_\- Mom._

That night, when he cries waterfalls unable to fall asleep, she holds him, anchoring him so that he doesn’t drown in the sea of his own grief. Placing kisses into his hair, Clarke feels her heart break, aware that he’s mourning the dad that left him so tragically, but also his mother once again. His wounds have been cut open by the sharpness of her handwriting.

 _I love you, I love you, I love you…_ She repeats into his shirt, interlacing their fingers beneath the duvet. Because he asks her to distract him, Clarke recites his favorite poem for him, the one that she has learned by heart.

  

_An orange on the table_

_Your dress on the rug_

_And you in my bed_

_Sweet present of the present_

_Cool of the night_

_Warmth of my life…_

_— Jacques Prévert_

To her immense relief, he seems to feel a lot better the next morning, offering her a smile despite his puffy eyes. For a while, they simply lie there, listening to each other’s breathing and beating hearts until they pull themselves out of bed. In the kitchen, they find themselves alone, so he pours her a cup of coffee, and she pours him some juice.

Tracing her fingertip along his cheekbone, gathering all of the stars there, Clarke murmurs, “I’m going to make some Christmas morning pancakes.”

Before she can hop off the counter, however, Bellamy pulls her closer for a sweet kiss; his lips taste like oranges. Pulling back, she smiles, her eyes filled with sparks. It makes her heart lighter that she can sense that the sadness he felt last night has abandoned his body now. “I want to help.”

Because the pancake preferences varies a lot in this house, they make some with orange zest, some with chocolate chips and some with blueberries. In the end, Abby and Marcus are greeted by three rather large stacks of pancakes when they show up in the kitchen for breakfast.

This Christmas morning is calm, as snowflakes cling to the window. When Clarke texts Raven a selfie of her and Bellamy in front of it, she receives an envious response: _WHY ARIZONA??? WHY DOES IT HAVE TO BE HOT IN DECEMBER?_

The scent of pine fills the room, the gifts beneath the tree dots of color in the living room as they all sit down to open them. From Bellamy, Marcus receives two old records from his collection in the dorm. “You mentioned liking Toto, so…”

“Bellamy, this is too much,” Marcus smiles, admiring the covers. 

“It’s Christmas,” is Bellamy’s perfect response, shrugging before turning his attention to Abby who’s put on the sweater that Clarke and him bought for a couple of days ago. Yes, the gifts might not be extravagant, but they don’t have to be, because that’s not what the Christmas spirit is about — not to them anyway.

On the other hand, they’re meaningful. Tears gather in Bellamy’s dark eyes when he opens his gift from Clarke: an early edition of Homer’s Odyssey that she confesses to have found in a tiny bookstore on the outskirts of New York. 

When the living room is full of torn-up wrapping paper, Bellamy pulls out a small, square present from his pocket and hands it to Clarke. Because its shape and size is revealing, Marcus whistles lightly, earning him an elbow in the side from Abby.

“Bellamy…”

“Just open it,” he grins, looking at her hands until they undo the bow and carefully pull the wrapping off, exposing a purple box. Removing the lid, Clarke gets the first glimpse of what’s inside and almost gasps: It’s a silver ring with a beautiful pearl in the middle that gleams with its pink undertones. At each side of the pearl, the metal of the ring forms a trinity knot. Clarke knows the shape, yet doesn’t remember the symbolism. Bellamy can help with that, as Abby and Marcus speechlessly watch. 

“My mom was half Scottish. She told my all about Celtic history because it interested me. The trinity knot has several meanings, but overall it symbolizes… well, eternity and… Yeah.” 

He’s becoming embarrassed now as his cheeks are colored by a subtle pink tint and he scratches the back of his neck, but Clarke has been struck speechless, mostly because of admiration. Swallowing the happy tears that clog her throat, she places the ring on her finger, suddenly thinking, _what does it mean for us?_

“Please don’t tell me you’re engaged before Abby and I,” Marcus says, and even though he’s clearly joking, Abby elbows him in the side again as Bellamy blushes harder. 

“No, no—“ he rushes, clearing his throat. Then he looks at Clarke, his eyes all kinds of apologetic before he clarifies, “I just thought of you when I saw it.”

Although she’s frightened by how much it must have cost him, Clarke knows that he wouldn’t appreciate her bringing it up, so she just pulls his head towards hers for a tender kiss, and as she rests her forehead against his, she murmurs, “Thank you. It’s beautiful. I love it.”

She glances at her mother, who simply sends her a knowing look. Then Clarke buries her face in Bellamy’s sweater, inhaling the scent of him, amazed at how he radiates comfort and how perfectly the ring fits. As if it was _made_ to be there, as if it always has been… 

As if it’s always going to be. 

The stars smile at each other, whispering, _“It is...”_


End file.
